


Friends With Benefits

by Alltheshrinks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Characters both bottom and top throughout this fic, Gay Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Manhandling, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-05-20 14:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19379002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alltheshrinks/pseuds/Alltheshrinks
Summary: Dean Smith and Sam Wesson haven both been in there share of horrible relationships and really bad breakups. They decide that having sex with a friend is a lot safer than random one night stands. Everything is fine until one wants to start dating again and the other realizes he is not okay with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is porn, straight up, unapologetic porn, with some plot thrown in because I can’t just write porn. There will be both oral and anal sex, with both characters being top and bottom, so if that’s not for you, please skip this fic. I’ve tried to tag every thing that might be a trigger, but be warned that almost nothing is going to be off limits except for BDSM elements (Not that there’s anything wrong with it, it just won’t appear in this fic) or any abuse of either character.

The numbers in the elevator kept increasing as the shiny interior of the car slightly dipped, before stopping on nearly every floor as it made its ascent skyward.

The car was becoming stifling in spite of the air conditioning, which did little to combat against the rising body heat of the associates of Singer and Turner, Attorneys at Law, especially when said employees were packed in the small mirrored cage like sardines in a can.

Junior Associate, Dean Smith, rocks back slightly on his heels as his eyes stay on the screen of the ridiculous-sized smart phone in his impressive grip. His emails are an extremely important tool to his job as corporate lawyer, specializing in mainly acquisitions and mergers, but they also keep him from eye contact and/or polite chatter that seems to be required in these situations.

Dean graduated at the top of his class at Stanford and was specifically recruited by old man Singer himself, after being in the same fraternity as Dean's father. He'd moved to New York without so much as a backwards glance at the state that he'd loved dearly, but had clearly outgrown. No, Dean's, sometimes alternative, lifestyle had given him extreme social anxiety as well as the very vocal disapproval from most of his home state. His parents were accepting of him, but at almost thirty, Dean had still only ever brought home female partners; even those had been slim pickings.

The metal box stops again, electronic ding signaling the arrival of at least one more passenger from the Human Resources Floor of the full-service firm. Someone was either new or in trouble and he scrolls further down a letter from a potential client when the whispered sound of compressed air and whooshing of the automatic doors announces another warm body into the six-and-a-half by seven foot enclosure.

A deep, honey sweet, timbre from above him says, "Going up?" Sounding slightly out of breath or flustered and Dean hazards a glance up. The rich voice is that of a man, but the face that Dean gazes up into is startling innocent and angelic. Golden skin with a hint of pink cheeks and hazel eyes, that appear steel gray at the moment, are framed by a mane of chestnut brown hair that seems to be rebelling against the styling products that normally attempt to tame it; attempt is an apt description as the brown locks are curling around the shell of his ear and flipping up just before they meet his white shirt collar.

Dean's eyes sweep down momentarily, before he drinks in the newest edition to the square crate that is suspended by a series of pulleys and counterweights. Long, long legs that are well muscled and defined, even in the somewhat relaxed cut of his trousers, rise up to a tapered waist and a torso that is broad and no doubt sculpted. The higher Dean's eyes rake, the better the view gets and he catches himself before he starts openly gawking at the size of this kid...er...man, fumbling with his messenger bag and pulling a little at the Windsor Knot against his throat. He's tall, several inches above Dean's sturdy six-one, large arms pulled into his body as if he's going will himself smaller.

The guy draws his messenger bag into his chest and stands just a few feet away, strong back on display for most of the passengers, who look at him like he is the second coming. There is a hint of a smirk in the reflection, as Dean meets his eyes in the chrome of their transportation, his own face flushing as he allows himself to think about those strong arms holding him down against any flat surface available and pummeling him with his dick and hips.

Or...he thinks about that god in front of him, miles and miles of naked skin sinking down on Dean's cock and riding him fast enough to break the current land speed record. The second image causes his blood to rush south and he just catches a moan before it slips out, the heat of the tiny cube finally permeating and Dean feels a drop of sweat roll down his temple.

The elevator slows and the tell-tale chirp chimes, without even a smirk or further acknowledgement, Adonis, (Or was he Narcissus?) strides off through that small archway, leaving Dean to only be marginally upset that he was walking away. He hated to see him leave, but loved watching him go.

  
*******

  
DING

"Is this spot taken?" Dean hears that saccharine sweet, gee whiz guys, voice form the words into a pick-up line. At work. In front of people. In a fucking elevator.

Instead of answering verbally, Dean turns his head towards the taller man, fully intending on giving him an epic stink eye; but before he can, the older male sees the smile on the taller man's face and his heart nearly stops beating. The younger man has deep dimples carved into his cheeks on both sides of his mouth, accentuating his white smile, that is bright enough to light up a room (or just an elevator). His kaleidoscope eyes are a brilliant blue-green, the twinkle of mischief in them shining out in an incandescent wonder.

Dean feels his cheeks hurt as he returns the smile that was given to him as widely and brightly as is possible before answering, "It is now."

"Sam Wesson," the tall man announces with gusto, sticking a large hand out for the now smiling man.

"Dean Smith," Dean takes the extended hand, it's warm and larger than his, totally engulfing the older man's as they shake in the small, otherwise empty, car. Sam's mood is contagious and Dean finds himself smiling and laughing easily the whole day.

  
*******

 

DING

"Hold the door!" Dean would recognize Sam's voice anywhere these days, so it doesn't take much effort to stop the door from closing on Sam's floor at just after five. The younger man has what looks like a model of the building that they are in, along with half of the building's library slung over his shoulder.

Dean gets every thing inside the box and releases the emergency stop and the halted car's doors slam shut before it lurches forward in a gear grinding screech. It throws the shorter man off balance and he stumbles one foot over the other and thats when his hands land precariously on the wide expanse of Sam's chest. For one perfect moment he can feel the hard muscles under the cotton of Sam's dress shirt and jacket before it dawns on him what he is doing.

"Sorry," he stutters out and takes a step back, his ears and cheeks pinking up before he can quite remove his hands from their perch on the lapels of Sam's designer jacket.

Sam smiles and saves Dean the embarrassment by turning away to pick up his model and granting him a brief reprieve, "Thanks man, I was afraid I was going to have to wait another twenty minutes for this thing to come back."

"Yeah, around five? You can count on it to slow down to a crawl, personally, I think old man Singer slows it down to save the building electricity after five," Dean laughs a little awkwardly and notices the boyish grin on Sam's face. "So plans for your Friday night?" Dean innocently asks, trying to make it sound like casual conversation.

If Sam notices the line or ignores it, Dean doesn't know, but the taller man just shakes his head and says, "I have to get this monstrosity taken down to the tech guys to be printed so that Henricksen has it first thing in the morning."

"On a Saturday? That's harsh, I'm sorry." Dean offers his sincere condolences, he remembers those days well.

"It's not your fault that I'm an intern," Sam shrugs and turns back to the descending numbers on top of the doors.

"An intern?" Jesus, how young was this kid.

"Yeah, I graduated law school early, but I came down with mono, so I can't take the bar until they give it again in May," Sam shrugs again and smiles that same smile that makes Dean want to smile along with him.

  
*******

DING

  
Sam's tie is slightly askew and his suit jacket is wadded up in his hand when he gets on board the elevator, he literally looks like someone kicked his puppy. Dean's heart immediately falls and he feels an extreme sadness for the younger man. He's willing to do anything to make him feel better.

"What's wrong, Sam? Henricksen cracking the whip at you?" Dean's smile is reassuring, but Sam barely even responds. His normally broad shoulders and perfect posture slumps, thin line of his lips set into a unrelenting smile.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam quietly responds and goes back to staring at his polished dress shoes.

"You don't have to talk about it, but how about you let me buy you a beer. No talking about and maybe it will get your mind off of whatever is bothering you." Dean offers as innocently as possible and hopes that Sam sees that this is just an offer to get him to relax and forget about whatever is bothering him.

"Some other time, I just can't..." With that, Sam's floor dings and the tall man exits without a goodbye or a backwards glance.

  
*******

  
DING

  
Sam enters the elevator the next morning with bloodshot eyes and dark shadows under them, he's clearly had a rough night and he doesn't acknowledge Dean's presence in the car as they make their way towards the upper floors of the building. There are way too many people on board to ask directly, so Dean just smiles sympathetically and lets the silence hang in the air.

  
*******

  
During dinner at one of Dean's favorite restaurants, his on again/off again boyfriend is late arriving at their table and Dean knows that something is up the minute that Trevor sits down at the table.

"What is it?" The lawyer asks, not wanting to even pretend that everything is fine.

"I was going to say this after dinner, but this just isn't working. You work all the time, we have nothing in common and I just can't so this anymore. I just can't...it's actually sucking the life out of me being with you." Once the words leave the man's lips, Dean feels like crying. This is his fifth failed relationship in a little over a year. All have been variations of, 'You're a great guy, just not for me,' 'You work too much,' 'You're self absorbed,' and so on and so forth, he's just tired of it.

He leaves the restaurant before even getting his drink and decides to walk home to his empty apartment. There's a six pack in his fridge and a half-gallon of ice cream in his freezer that won't help, but will at least distract him for a little while.

Out on the side walk, he notices the tall form of Sam standing there, looking just as crushed as he feels.

"Sam," Dean calls out and the young intern turns towards his name. Dean rushes forward and greets the man that up until this point, he's only seen in an elevator.

"Hi," Sam waves, without his normal cheeriness and it physically hurts Dean. "What's wrong, you look awful?" He asks after finally taking in the look on Dean's face.

"It's nothing, I just got dumped buy my boyfriend." Dean shrugs.

Sam nods and adds, "Well I got dumped by mine just a few days ago. Apparently, I work too much."

Dean understands the younger man's mood for the last few days. "Well, I'm taking you for a drink, my treat and I insist."

Sam is hesitant, he doesn't want Dean getting the wrong idea and he kind of just wants to be alone. "I don't know, man, I sort of want go home and crash."

"Come on, no strings attached, just two friends wallowing in self pity. What do you say?"

  
*******

  
Dean leads Sam to a sports bar that his coworkers nor his circle of friends frequent and they spend the night getting pleasantly buzzed and regaling all of the horror dates, relationships and shitty excuses for being broken up with. Dean can't remember when he's laughed as hard or has had such a good time without sex being thrown into the equation.

The weeks pass with Sam and Dean sending texts, having phone calls and generally hanging out as friends. They laugh more and somehow spend that time forgetting about the void in their lives.

It isn't until around a month later when Sam is propositioned in one of their favorite bars that he finally confesses that he misses sex.

"Well, go for it," Dean is encouraging, as the guy is definitely easy on the eyes and looks like he would be fantastic in the sheets

"I don't want to be a one night stand, but I just can't do a relationship right now." The younger man says and Dean whole heartily agrees.

"Too bad that sex can't be just emotionless, no one gets their feelings hurt and we can satisfy that itch without the fear of attachment."

After walking back to Dean's apartment and playing three heated games of Call of Duty, Dean sets his controller down and looks at Sam. He's more than a little drunk and he says, "I think we should have sex."  
  
Sam cuts his eyes over to his best friend and looks at him like he's grown three heads. "Are you nuts? We don't like each other like that."

"Which makes it perfect, no strings, no broken hearts. We don't have to wine/dine each other, but still get to hang out as friends. Just friends that are having benefits." Dean is proud of his logical part of his inebriated brain at the moment and knows this will absolutely work.

Sam reluctantly nods his head in agreement and they spend the better part of an hour trying to negotiate rules and limits. By then it is way too late and neither can keep their eyes open to start anything. They are doing this tomorrow, after sobering up and getting some sleep. All Dean can think is that this will be epic.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wakes up to his head pounding and his neck straining in an odd way. He's laying half on and half off of the couch, with something heavy crushing his legs.Once he forces one eye open more than a sliver, he tries to dislodge his legs, that’s when he realizes that Sam has been using them as a pillow; that explains why he has lost all of the feeling in them.

 

The sunlight is streaming in the small windows of his fifth story apartment and he wants to just let Sam stay where he is, all snuggled up and warm against him, but his bladder has other ideas and begins screeching in protest until he just can't ignore it.

 

He finally nudges Sam off of him, who turns over and begins drooling on the fabric of his sofa instead of his legs and Dean can't help but smile fondly down at the younger man. Its an exercise in patience and sheer will power, trying to get his legs to stop tingling so he can use the bathroom. 

 

After Dean finally makes it there and does his business and washes his hands, he remembers pieces of the conversation from the night before flooding back to him.

 

" _Any kinks?" Sam asks shyly as he takes another swig from the bottle of microbrew in his hand._

_"Nothing that I absolutely have to have a partner do, but I am adventurous. I'll try anything once." Dean shoots a wink over at the younger man._

 

Dean groans against the door frame of the bathroom at the thought and vows to never drink that much again.They were both plastered and there is absolutely no way that Sam is going to have any kind of sex with him now.

 

Currently the best thing he can hope for is that Sam doesn't remember and it’s chocked up to being way too drunk and way too horny for either of them to be taken seriously.

 

Dean has showered and started breakfast by the time that Sam wakes up, the smell of frying bacon causes his stomach to rebel and he just makes it to the bathroom before losing at least a twelve pack of beer into the toilet.

 

He's moaning and scratching his stomach as he comes back into the kitchen where the offensive smell of grease isn't nearly as bad as it had been before.

 

Dean wordlessly hands him a full glass of water and some Advil, wondering how a guy Sam's size could be such a light weight. Then it dawns on him that despite Sam's size, he's actually four years his junior and probably not as prone to benders as Dean himself is.

 

"Thanks man," Sam flashes that million watt smile his way with the dimples on full display and Dean feels something in his chest catch as he looks at the younger man.

 

"No problem. Best thing for a hangover is a greasy breakfast, it is turkey bacon, but the best I can do." Dean is smiling like an idiot and Sam sits down at the small table in Dean's kitchen.

 

Sam clears his throat and grabs for the plate of food that is already cooked and cooling on a paper towel, "So...about last night..." he starts to say and Dean wishes he was invisible. 

 

"Listen Sam, I don't expect you to, I mean we were drunk," Dean says at the same time that Sam finishes his sentence.

 

"...we are going to have to go over the rules again because I can't remember a single thing we decided on."

 

"Really?" Dean quickly amends and can't help the face splitting grin that lights up his face that Sam is still game.

 

"Yeah, unless you didn't mean what you said, I mean I can't deal with the thought of trying to date and just the idea of one night stands right now hurts my head. I don't have time to go out every time I want to get laid. It would mean a lot having some one that I can trust." Sam stumbles over the words as he drags another piece of bacon into his mouth.

 

"I mean, yeah. I get to have sex with a hot guy that I don't have to impress and that doesn't mind if I'm socially stunted or that I work too hard, I'm in." Dean feels a little bad that he already really likes Sam, but if he gets to have sex with him and be his friend, he's definitely not turning it down.

 

"So what were the rules?" Sam asks, almost shyly.

 

"How about this, if you don't want to do something, or want me doing something, you just tell me and I'll do the same?" Dean offers his hand out for the other man.

 

"That sounds perfect," is Sam's reply as he closes his hand around the long and manicured fingers of the older man. "So when do we start?" Sam adds as almost an after thought.

 

"It's no strings Sam, we start whenever the both of us are in the mood. No one's feelings get hurt if one of us is too tired." Dean is sure that this is exactly what Sam wants to hear and he's not sure how his heart is going to handle it when Sam wants to start dating again.

 

"I need to shower," Sam gets up and stretches all six feet and four inches of his lumbering frame and Dean can't help but feel himself harden in his pants at the thought of all of that skin on display in front of him.

 

"You can use mine," Dean tries his best not to leer or sound too over eager, but he's not sure that he succeeds. By this many months into their friendship, Sam knows where just about everything is in Dean's apartment, but Dean leads him to the decently sized accommodations and hands him a towel and shows him where his shampoo and soap isbehind the frosted glass, as well as how to turn the shower on.

 

As soon as Sam closes the door, Dean takes off toward his bedroom. He gathers up all of his dirty clothes that litter the floor and pulls the sheets off that he thinks he changed at the beginning of the week, but why take any chances.He makes the bed as quickly as he can, using the high thread count sheets that he normally reserves for bringing people of the female persuasion home and double checks the contents of his nightstand. There are plenty of condoms and lube, but he takes the time to hide the assortment of toys that have also taken up residence in the drawer since he and Trevor split up. He has needs, sue him. But there is no reason to scare Sam off right away, so he buries the contents under the bottom drawer of his dresser behind his pajamas.

 

He hears the shower turn off just as he smoothing down the comforter and replacing the oversized pillows that the interior decorator he once dated suggested that he buy. Just because they split up doesn't mean that he had to throw all of that free advice away when it ended. As much as Dean tried to fit into the role of urban enlightened, he was still from Texas and that just did not fly in NYC.

 

He's wondering what he should be doing when Sam walks out of the bathroom, towel tied around his hips and acres of tan flesh invitingly bare and paraded around his home. Sam's chest is glistening with moisture that is running downward towards his treasure trail like a neon sign. Dean is rendered completely and utterly speechless.

 

"Something wrong?" Sam takes in the face of his friend, who in all honesty looks like he's about to pass out at any moment.

 

"Wrong?" The older man forces out a laugh and rubs the back of his neck with his hand, "Nothing's wrong. What could be wrong?" His voice is pitched a little higher than he would like as he nervously chuckles louder than necessary.

 

Sam takes a tentative step towards him and Dean is positively mesmerized by the chiseled abs and bulging pecs that the younger man has been hiding under oxford shirts and hoodies for the last few months.

 

Sam blushes under his intense gaze and Dean pushes all of the awkwardness down. This was his idea and he's hardly ashamed of the way he looks and any complaints that he's ever received have to due to his personality and not what he looks like or related to his performance. He decides to take the bull by the horns and peels off the long sleeved t-shirt that he has on and undoes the buttons on his well loved and worn out pair of jeans. He's not as super defined as Sam is, but he is in fantastic shape, his skin is cinnamon dusted and lightly golden.

 

Once Dean has stepped out of his jeans and is standing within touching distance of Sam, he allows himself to finally touch the younger man, sliding the back of his fingers down the ridges of his perfectly sculpted abdominal muscles. "Is this okay?" The words coming out in the lowest timber that he is capable of. 

 

Sam smiles, those carved out dimples appearing and even teeth making him even more boyish and innocent looking as he grabs ahold of Dean's waist and drags him closer to him. Sam's skin is hot, he's at least a few degrees warmer than Dean and the older man can't help but running his hands over his strong back and allowing them to settle right above where the towel is tied precariously around his trim hips.

 

"What do you do to get a body like this?" Dean can hear the strain on his vocal chords and the damn near growl that he lets out as his fingers tug at the terry cloth that stands between him and exposing all of that wonderful, tanned muscle.

 

"I have a lot of nervous energy, I probably work out three hours a day," Sam answers, even though he knows the question was rhetorical and he sounds like a tool.

 

Dean is two inches from crashing that candy pink mouth to his own when Sam pulls back and out of reach of his mouth. Dean is crestfallen, but it is not a deal breaker, he will just have to focus on other things besides that mouth that simple will not quit.

 

"No kissing? Okay, rule one." The shorter mans states as pragmatically as he can muster before advancing on Sam again.

 

"What?" Sam is adorably confused as he shakes his head, "Absolutely kissing, but bedroom?"

 

Relief floods through Dean's body as he grabs Sam's wrist and nearly drags him towards his bedroom, not stopping until he has shoved the oversized boy onto the mattress and climbed over the top of him. Only then does he lean in and all but crash their lips together before licking at the seam and slipping his tongue into the inviting and wet orifice. Sam moans into the kiss, tangling his tongue around Dean'sbefore grabbing ahold of Dean's waist and rolling them over on the oversized bed, knocking pillows to the floor in his haste.

 

The smaller man is manhandled farther up the bed and Sam finally pulls at the black boxer briefs that are all that remain of his clothing. Dean cants his hips to allow the waistband of his shorts to slip past his hip bones and down his legs, before kicking the offending article free and out of the way of the larger man's hands. Sam's hands are huge and feel like they are everywhere before finally settling on the rounded curves of Dean's ass.

 

The towel that was protecting what little bit of modesty that Sam had, has already worked its way loose and become a casualty in the wake of the virtual undulating that Dean is doing under Sam, as the younger man nips and bites his way across Dean's jaw and throat, leaving hot, open mouth kisses all the way to his collar bone. Dean feels boneless and nearly useless as Sam worships all the skin that he can reach on his descent downwards.

 

"Jesus Christ, Sam, slow down," It takes some maneuvering but he is able to get the bigger man to stop his assault with his tongue and teeth and pulls him back up to his face. Dean searches Sam's face, seeing the desire and lust that he is sure is identical to his own. "Whoa, where's the fire?"

 

Sam has the decency to look sheepish, before he ducks his head and replies, sounding younger than anyone his size has a right to. "S-sorry, you're just so hot and I got carried away."

 

Dean feels his cheeks split wide open at Sam calling him hot, "Hey, as flattered as I am, this is not a race. This is is for fun and there's no rush."

 

Sam nods his agreement and closes in to capture the older man's mouth, slower, but no less passionately than before as his tongue explores all of the ridges and dips that make up the roof and soft palate of Dean's mouth. Dean allows him to probe further and further back until he finally pulls back as the lack of oxygen causes black spots to dance before his eyes.

 

"Sam, Sam..." Dean says when the bigger man chases after his mouth with the determination of a dog with a bone. "I don't know what you're looking for, but I had my tonsils removed at seven."

 

Sam's cheeks turn pink at the question and Dean decides right then and there that pink is so his color. "You're going to kill me," it's said as almost a benediction, before he ghosts his lips over Sam's, teasing and tempting with the smallest amount of his own tongue slipping between Sam's, just to have Sam grow more frustrated as he chases the older man's elusive mouth.

 

Sam is losing his fight with his body to not just grab and dominate when Dean ducks his head and latches onto one small, dusky nipple and twirls his tongue around the stiff peak, only to blow cool air over the abused skin, leaving goosebumps and cold chills to break out in his wake.

 

Sucking and licking lower and lower, Dean's tongue lavishes attention on Sam's defined stomach and washboard abs before stopping right above the thick and weeping head of his cock, laying hard against the groove of his adonis belt. He looks up under his lashes to meet Sam's gaze, before lapping up the pearl of precome that has collected at the tip and dipping into the slit, just to suck the crown into his mouth. 

 

"Your fucking mouth," Sam says before flinging his head back against the pillow. He's going to come from just the visual and he'll be damned if he's going to let this be over this quick. Dean releases him from his mouth and moves farther down to suck on one of his balls, then the other before swirling his tongue around the puckered opening behind Sam's sack. 

 

"Shit," Sam's whole body spasms as Dean continues to lap around his hole, like a man dying of thirst does water.The older of the pair holds his hips stationary as he continues the onslaught of his opening, sucking and fucking his tongue in and out until Sam thinks he's going to lose his mind. By the time Dean slips a moisten finger in to the first knuckle, Sam's is loose and sloppy. It only takes a moment until Dean has found what he's looking for and Sam nearly knocks them both off the bed when he rubs over that bundle of nerves deep inside.

 

"Can you come from just this?" Dean asks between licking in next to his fingers, which he has added one to the mix. The only sound that Sam can make is unintelligible and so Dean asks again, "Can you come from just this?"

 

Sam raises up on just his elbows and looks at the shock of damp brown hair between his legs, "I-I-I have...no idea."

 

Dean pulls away and gazes up, straight into Sam's stormy, hazel eyes. "You've been used all wrong. Let's find out." He tsks at the younger man and wags his eyebrows.

 

Sam doesn't even have time to protest before a third digits slides home, Dean applies direct pressure on his prostate by massaging in a quick and circular motion. He feels like he's been shocked by an electric fence, as heat and a tingling sensation begins where Dean is touching. Sam feels his balls contract as white hot pleasure uncoils in his stomach and he comes without warning all over his stomach.

 

Sam floats back to Earth and into his body, opens his eyes, raises his head on a groan. "I'm sorry..."

 

"I'm going to go with yes." Dean has his chin resting on the inside of his thigh, smiling up at him. "What are you sorry for? This is fun, Sam. Plus, that was ridiculously hot."

 

Before the bigger man can even blush or object, Dean is crawling up to lap up the mess of white that is decorating the bottom half of his torso and his dick gives a very valiant effort to get hard again. 

 

"My turn," Dean announces, after most of the come has been licked clean or rubbed further into Sam's skin. The smaller man maneuvers himself next to him on the bed and pulls Sam down to meet his mouth. Sam hesitates for a moment, he's not a prude, but Dean's mouth has been there and has his own come in it. But he's also scorching hot, like the sun on the equator so Sam acquiesces easily in the end.

 

Sam takes ahold of Dean's length for the first time and strokes the silky skin in a loose grip. Dean smiles into the kiss and says, "Use your mouth, princess."

 

Alright, Sam thinks. Dean is decidedly more bossy in bed than he is outside of it, but that's okay with him. Sam is hardly a virgin, he's been with plenty of men and women and knows what he's doing. He slides down towards the foot of the bed and nestles between the large space that Dean's muscular legs are providing. Dean tucks his hands behind his head on the pillow, body on display like a sacrifice.

 

Sam takes him into his mouth immediately, moving his tongue around the crown and the thick vein that is the only imperfection on the otherwise perfect appendage. He allows it to slide between his lips as he bobs his head in an up and down fashion. 

 

Dean isn't as well endowed as Sam is, but he's still big and the younger man struggles against his gag reflex as he takes him as far back in his throat as he can, before pulling almost all the way off to suck at just the head.

 

"A little further down," Dean grunts out as one hand comes down to the side of Sam's head, fingers threading through the shaggy, damp locks. "There. A little further. Right there." Dean directs like he is parallel parking a car. Sam would almost be offended if the object of his affections wasn't moaning like a porn star.

 

"A little more teeth," Dean commands and Sam is getting a little tired of being bossed around, it doesn’t matter whether he is absolutely gorgeous or not. But he complies, and Dean arches away from him, "too much. Ow." Sam smiles to himself and eases up.

 

"Nightstand, lube. Fingers." Dean's commentary is coming out more breathless and incoherent now and Sam feels slightly smug. He pulls off with a audible pop to retrieve the requested item, then wastes no time slicking his fingers up and shoving two in as far as they will go. Dean curses under his breath, but makes no remarks, so Sam pulls them out and right back in with no warning.

 

By the time the third one is added, Dean is all but fucking himself on Sam's hand and his little, breathy, punched out whines have little Sam hard and leaking against the comforter. He's getting ready to use his mouth when Dean makes the mistake of saying, "Use your mouth."

 

Sam pulls his digits free and grabs the older man around the hips and drags him the three feet down the mattress until confused green eyes are staring right under his. "Why'd you stop? I was close."

 

That is it. Sam's had enough, he leans down as close as he can and whispers lowly into Dean's ear. "If you don't shut your mouth, right now, I'm going to fuck you all the way through to your fourth floor neighbors.

 

Dean's eyes widen almost comically, before he makes a show of opening his mouth and saying, "Promise?"

 

Time seems to speed up as Sam climbs off and grabs at a strip of condoms that are still in the night stand. He tears one off and uses his canines to rip the foil and then rolls one down his painfully hard erection. He lubes himself up with a couple of strokes and is back looming over the man on the bed, before Dean could even process what is happening. Sam's large hands can damn near, completely span the older man's narrow waist, when he grips him again and manhandles the man to almost the footboard.  
  


Dean is getting ready to say something, probably another order and Sam doesn't give him the chance. He lines up and sinks home in one fluid, but quick thrust and all the air is forced out of Dean's mouth in a high-pitched squeal. Sam only pauses momentarily to check for signs of discomfort, but seeing none he pulls out and drives back in with enough force to shove the body beneath him up the bed at least a foot.

 

He shoves at Dean's thighs until his knees are beside him on the mattress and nearly under his arm pits, then corkscrews his hips in an unforgiving rhythm that slides the pair all the way up to the headboard. Dean has placed both hands on the wood surface, his biceps are straining as he pushes back to meet Sam and keep his head from ramming into unyielding expanse of oak, in the tempo of Sam's forceful movements.

 

Dean's arms are just about to give out when Sam notices his distress, rises up on his hands and gathers him up like a rag doll. His hips never stop their relentless pounding, still splitting Dean wide open, even as he deposits him sideway on the bed and away from having his brains bashed out.

 

Sam slides off the edge of the bed to his feet, dragging Dean with him and his ass to the edge of the comforter, the new angle and leverage impaling that sweet spot on every pass. They both are soaked in sweat, the salt is running into Dean's eyes and almostblinding him, while blood rushes to his ears in a deafening roar. The bed is creaking in a terrifying whine, and has been pushed a couple of feet to the side, while the sounds falling out of the older man's lips are at war with the slapping of skin on skin, as Sam just grinds into him harder and harder.

 

The pressure of Dean's release is building up like volcano, his balls have already drawn up and almost into his body, when Sam finally takes ahold of his percolating cock and strokes it twice without a shred of finesse or tenderness. Pleasure and pain lights up all of his nerve endings, before culminating at the base of his spine, then explodes in a supernova of euphoria. Dean thinks he can hear angels singing as his climax erupts of of him, his seed painting Sam's hand as well as both of their stomachs.

 

Sam's barely aware of the warm, wetness drenching his hand, because Dean's rim contracts tightly around his dick at the moment of his release, squeezing him in a torturous grip, ripping his orgasm from him like a parachute in a free fall. He comes on a bitten off scream, eyes rolling back in his head and body convulsing.

 

It takes a few seconds for the smoke to clear, but Sam finally slips his overly sensitive length out and collapses right next to Dean on the destroyed bed. It is now sitting caddy corner, four feet from where it started out, mattress halfway off the box springs and fitted sheet yanked loose and rolled up to the middle.

 

Dean is still bent in half on his back, arms locked around his shins and breathing like he just ran a marathon. He only makes an inarticulate grunt when Sam unfolds him from the human pretzel that he has become and pulls the rumpled comforter from the floor to drape over them. They are both going to be sticky and gross when they wake up and Sam is pretty sure that he's going to be seriously berated for the caveman theatrics that he just displayed, but Dean hasn't kicked him out or threatened to call the cops yet, so he's taking that as a win.

 

 

*******

 

 

DING

 

The elevator door opens on the fifth floor and Sam shoulders into the crowded car. Dean is at the back of the car, hair meticulously gelled and parted, his starched shirt and expensive jacket are flawless, like always and he smirks when Sam catches his eye. The taller man has never been accused of being anything close to subtle, and judging by the huge smile on his face, he's not going to start anytime soon; but that doesn't mean that he's stupid enough to give anything away while they are in public.

 

There are still three other people on board when the elevator stops at Dean's floor, Sam moves aside to allow him and two of his other coworker's pass. Dean is the last one to exit, he brushes up against Sam on his way out and catches the younger man's eyes in the reflection of the door and winks.

 

Sam watches the him walk away, and if he's slightly limping and a little more bow-legged than usual, well that's their secret.


	3. Chapter 3

It's five oh five pm on Tuesday evening when Dean shuts down his computer and puts his files in his messenger bag, he grabs his keys, puts on his jacket and flies out the door of his office. He's already running late, because the corrections to the acquisition contracts that he's been preparing for one of their biggest clients had taken him most of the afternoon. The client, Webster and Sons, LLC, were finicky bastards to say the least and how Dean had gotten saddled with catering to their every whim, he still isn't sure of.

 

He skids down the hall and presses the elevator button, just to have his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he presses the down button for the elevator again and isn't surprised to see its from Sam.

 

At five-fifty, Sam has him stripped from the waist down, seated on the countertop in his kitchen and being fucked with an inch of his life. Dean's brand new Keriug coffee maker crashed to the tile floor about three minutes earlier and Dean absently thinks that he will just buy another one. He's never going to be able to look at this countertop again without thinking about Sam pounding into him so hard that he can't remember his own name.

 

Dean's head has smacked into the upper cabinets no fewer than five times and he decides to have the conversation with the younger man about his habit of destroying his furniture and trying to bash in his brains all at the same time whenever they have sex. Just as he's finishing that thought, Sam picks him up off the counter and deposits him on Dean's butcher block table that cost him a small fortune; Dean loses the ability to think about anything at this point, because Sam is drilling into his prostate with a precision and single-minded focus so intense that the older man is sure that his abdominal muscles are going to turn inside out, just before he comes so hard that he thinks he hears the car alarm to his Prius going off on the sidewalk five stories below.

 

Sam is still pistoning his hips and thrusting with abandon, his body tenses up and he honest to God growls as his own climax hits him. That's about two seconds before the table groans and crashes to floor under the weight of their bodies. Sam is unsurprisingly silent as they both lay in a heap, atop the splintered and ruined remains of the wooden dinette set.

 

With his face hidden against Dean's shoulder, Sam is alarmed to feel the man beneath him start to shake gently against him. His eyes fly open in concern, as he pulls away enough to look at Dean's face.

 

His worry turns to embarrassment when he realizes, belatedly, that Dean is laughing. The gentle chuckles turn to full out, side splitting, cackles when Dean catches the blush on the other man's face. There are tears streaming down his cheeks and the giggles have morphed into near-silent wheezing when Sam finally gets his wits about him and pulls out. He gently climbs to his feet and then looks the still supine man over, before clearing his throat. "Are you okay?"

 

Dean wipes his cheeks and attempts to sit up. "I think so. Though my table is now garbage." He's still smiling as he raises an arm up to the taller man. Sam reaches down to grasp his arm in a forearm grip and hoists to Dean to his feet.

 

Once on his feet, Dean finds his pants in front of the refrigerator, his boxers by the stove and one sock out in the living room. He's still laughing to himself as he pulls his boxers on, then heads towards the shower.

 

Sam is unsure if he should follow or if Dean's in some sort of hysterical, defensive trance to keep himself from going off the deep end and throwing him out. Dean hollers from the bathroom just as he starts the water running. "If I let you in this shower with me, Bruce Banner, am I going to need new doors?"

 

Sam takes the olive branch and heads toward the back of the apartment and enters the room. He's surprising somber when he looks up and says, "Hands to myself. Scouts honor," he punctuates the statement with a three-fingered salute.

 

Dean closes the distance between their bodies and pulls Sam into him. Despite his legs feeling like jello and the phantom ache in his ass, the shorter man is in a surprisingly good mood. "You can touch," he whispers before slotting his mouth over Sam's, "but don't Hulk smash me."

 

Sam nods his agreement before guiding both of their bodies into the stall and under the spray of the cascade shower head. He really needs to get one of these for his own shower.

 

By six-thirty, the pair are parked on Dean's sectional, beers on the coffee table and pizza from Sam's favorite pizzeria on its way. There's a football game playing on Dean's 60 inch flatscreen, but Sam isn't paying any attention to the score or anything happening on tv. He keeps sneaking glances across the couch at Dean. They are laying feet to feet, each stretched out on their own side. The older man's hair has dried in messy spikes, he's wearing a faded black concert tee and a pair of loose fitting navy track pants. Sam is caught unaware by just how beautiful he is like this, so soft and relaxed, one arm under his head and the other extended over the edge of the couch, a beer bottle held in a precarious grip by his fingertips.

 

The third time Dean catches Sam staring, he's well on his way to a pleasant buzz. His sore, aching muscles have finally calmed down under the effects of the alcohol and his mind has stopped racing with all of his fears about what Sam and he are doing. "What?"

 

Sam looks away from that piercing, green stare, just to look up again under his eyelashes and too long fringe of his mop of hair. He looks startling innocent and boyish in the light from the television, hair hanging in his face and a hoodie that hides all of that flesh and rippling pectorals. Sam seems unsure of himself, despite what has been transpiring for the last few days.

 

Dean focuses through the haze of the beer and picks up the desire and simmering lust in the other man's expression. "Sam? You're looking at me like you want to eat me. Now, normally, I'd be all kinds of flattered, but my ass can not go another round with that horse dick of yours. Not tonight, anyway."

 

Sam laughs, open-mouthed and head tossed back. The sight is so freaking beautiful that Dean knows that he's going to give in and it is going to be near impossible to sit tomorrow. Sam seems to pick up on his train of thought, because he shakes his head and clears his throat. "I know we haven't really talked about, or if we did, I don't remember, but I switch hit."

 

Dean brings his bottle to his lips and takes a long pull before reacting. He arches his eyebrow as if he's considering this information, but his body is already responding. His dick gives a very interested twitch and his face and chest break out into a warm flush that isn't visible in the low light.He chooses his words very carefully when he finally opens his mouth, "Pizza first, then I'm going to take my table out of your ass."

 

Sam doesn't know whether to be afraid or excited, his traitorous downstairs brain decides for him and he chubs up in his boxers. He spends the next twenty minutes and a large meat extreme pizza, hard enough to drive nails with his dick.

 

Dean seems unaffected by the growing tension in the room. He gathers up the empty bottles and pizza boxes and retreats to the kitchen. Sam takes refuge in the bathroom to get rid of the excess beer that he's ingested and regroup. He splashes water on his face and looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn't know why he's so nervous, he's bottomed plenty of times and it's not like he and Dean have never had sex before. They've been having all kinds of sex, all over Dean's apartment.

 

He decides that he's being ridiculous and summons his courage and exits the bathroom. Dean has turned the tv off and the light from his bedroom is on and shining an ominous glow out into the hallway. Sam squares his shoulders and walks straight in.

 

Dean is removing the pillows from the bed and as a second thought, he moves his bedside lamp and clock radio to the dresser. Sam stands at the doorway, silent and watching.

 

"What are you doing?" Sam finally asks when Dean takes off his t-shirt and throws it into the basket by his closet.

 

"I'm minimizing the damage," he says with a smirk and strides up to Sam and takes his hands. Pulling him back towards the bed, he adds, "I like that shirt and my mom gave me that lamp. I'm not going to hurt you, Sam. This is fun, remember, if you don't feel comfortable with it, we won't do it. Easy as that."

 

"No, I want to." The younger of the pair allows himself to be guided down on the mattress and Dean pulls at his sweatshirt, lifting it over his head and then straddles his lap. Dean's bare chest is warm as it presses up against him and he tilts Sam's head back to nip at his jaw. The older man seals his lips over his lover's in a searing and searching kiss. His tongue probes every inch of Sam's mouth, while his thumbs stroke and caress the defined cheek bones of his face. Sam's own hands sink below the waistband of Dean's pants and shorts, lightly squeezing the rounded flesh of Dean's ass cheeks.

 

Dean pulls back on a gasp, when the need for oxygen becomes too great. He pushes at Sam's shoulders and the younger man surrenders and lets his body fall back onto the comforter. Instead of following as Sam expected, Dean stands up and pulls his pants and boxer briefs off together, leaving him naked, hard and on display. Sam drinks in all of the lightly tanned skin, it's smooth and unmarred and he's becoming very well acquainted with it.

 

Dean rids him of his jeans and boxers, then climbs onto the bed next to the bigger man, rolls them both so they are facing each other, before diving in to kiss Sam again. They are locked so tightly together than not an inch of space exists between them, from lips to legs, they are tangled up in each other and the way they fit together is making Dean's blood boil.

 

Their kisses become almost frantic, more biting than anything, and roaming hands become more urgent as Dean lines their erections up together and starts rutting up against his partner. Sam is panting and breathless, silky skin glides along his own, his desperation growing as too much and not enough fight for dominance.

 

Not enough finally wins out, when Dean directs him to roll on his stomach, his timbre sex-drunk and wrecked like he's been breathing glass. The younger man immediately complies, settling on his front, arms hugging the pillow that Dean deposits in them. Another is placed under his hips and Sam takes a couple of deep breathes to calm himself down.

 

Dean is only gone for seconds, retrieving what he needs from the nightstand before he's settling between Sam's knees. He doesn't tease or taunt, just separates Sam with sure hands and leans in to lick at the furrowed skin of Sam's entrance. Sam bites back a moan, burrowing his face further into the pillow as Dean dips his tongue past the first ring of muscle and licks him open.

 

Sam is rocking his hips back into that velvet spear, and driving his cock into the pillow beneath him. Dean stills his hip, before circling a lube coated finger around his rim experimentally, then slipping it inside without any resistance. He thrusts it in and out several times before sliding a second one in beside it. He scissors his fingers, stretching and spreading the tight channel open, while caressing the sweet, sweet spot inside that make's Sam's cock weep onto the pillowcase.

 

When he's three fingers deep, and Sam's a quivering mess on his hand, he pulls out and rips open the condom that he laid on the bed. He rolls the latex down with practiced efficiency, coating his length with plenty of the water-based gel. He lines himself up and nudges the entrance before leaning down to ask, "Are you ready?"

 

Sam feels the blunt tip rest against his rim, it's much bigger than Dean's three fingers and he knows that it's probably the biggest cock that he's ever been fucked with. He tries to let his nerves go, after all, he's bigger than Dean is. He's not smug about it, because Dean is still enormous and he's taken Sam's dick without complaint a few times now, and after all, turn about is fair play. The thought is only a small comfort when he's being split wide open, one painful inch at a time. He relaxes as best as he can, breathing out of his mouth for the eternity that it takes for Dean to bottom out.

 

When Dean is fully seated inside him, he stops to allow Sam to get past the discomfort, rubs soothing circles on Sam's hip, and kisses across a shoulder blade. The older man is pressed up tight against Sam's back, their breathing synced up perfectly when he speaks lowly against Sam's ear, "Are you okay?"

 

Sam is surprised to note that he actually is okay, his flagging erection is slowly fattening up against the pillow, and the pain that he was feeling has dulled to just a small ache. "Yeah." He manages to choke out before trying again, "Yeah, I'm good, you can move."

 

"You don't sound so sure," Dean quips, gently rocking his hips from side to side in warning.

 

"No, I'm good. Please move," Sam says, before backing up as much as he can in the position he's in. Dean, never being one to argue during sex, takes him at his word and pulls out slowly. He's so gentle at first, that Sam is ill-prepared for the speed and force of which Dean snaps his hips forward.

 

Sam realizes that thinking that Dean was going to easy on him was stupid, and braces himself for the powerful thrusts that those strong muscular thighs are capable of. Dean only promised to not hurt him, and so far he's kept his word, but Sam can't help but acknowledge that he absolutely deserves this.

 

Dean is now knocking the headboard into he wall with every plunge of his cock, the wicked swivel of his pelvis, catches against Sam's rim and rams into his prostate with surgical accuracy. The pillowcase under his hips is soaked with sweat and moisture from his leaking dick, while the one in his arms is in danger of being burst open in his vise-like grip.

 

Sam has absolutely no leverage like this, so he lets go of he pillow and tries to scramble up to his knees, just to have Dean press him back into the mattress. The older man has both of his hands pressing on the small of Sam's back, and is using his strong arms to propel him even harder and faster in the prone man.

 

Sam feel his orgasm coming on like a runaway bullet train, too quick to stop without collateral damage and no possible way to derail it sans bodily injury, so he braces himself the best he can and prepares for the crash to happen. He feels his rim involuntarily flutter and clenches down tightly just as his dick goes off like a bottle rocket, before the explosion of sparks and colors lights up the backs of his eyelids.

 

"Jesus, fucking Christ, Sammy," Dean is out breath and it comes out like a sob, the grip of Sam's inner walls so tight that it almost forces him completely out. With hips stuttering and his vision blurry, Dean feels himself hurtled through space and time without a net, pleasure erupting all the way from his toes as he spills deep inside of Sam.

 

After the older man's heart slows down to only hammering, he has the presence of mind to grab ahold of the condom and slip out before his legs and arms turn to mush and he collapses on Sam.

 

Dean is heavy, but not unbearably so, his skin a warm contrast to the sweat cooling and goosebumps all over Sam. The younger man allows himself to be lulled into that in between state, where consciousness is hazy and he floats just above a slumber. He's snapped back to wakefulness by Dean shifting his weight and rolling over onto to his back next to him. Sam immediately takes stock of his body, the way you might do after a car accident and finds that other than the slight pain in his behind and the burn in his exerted muscles, he's pleasantly numb.

 

"Dean?" He hears his own voice sound like he's submerged in water, his brain all cottony and dull. He wants to say that this was amazing or even ask him to call the paramedics, but what comes out is, "I think I ruined your pillow."

 

"Hmmm, I think I'm upping my renter's insurance." The reply comes just as fucked out and absently as his own words had sounded.

 

Eight-fifteen finds them sitting up in Dean's bed, destroyed pillows and comforter kicked to the bottom of the bed and both in t-shirts and boxers. There's a bowl of chocolate chip, cookie dough ice cream in between them with two spoons and six pack of Yuengling on Dean's nightstand. The Real Housewives of New York City is playing in a marathon on Dean's tv and both men are groaning at the theatrics of the scripted train wreck, playing out on screen.

 

"There's no fucking way that this isn't one-hundred percent scripted. No one has that much drama in their life." Sam is saying around a heaping spoonful.

 

"I don't know, I've dated some women who were absolutely that way." Dean licks his spoon and pulls the sheet up tighter around his waist.

 

"Do you ever think that you'll settle down? Meet someone and fall hopelessly in love, the kids and white picket fence?" Sam questions as a party descends into everything but hand-to-hand combat in High Definition.

 

"Are we watching the same show, Sam?" Dean teases.

 

"You don't believe in happily ever after? That you can meet some one and just know that you could spend the rest of your life with them?" Sam sounds wistful and almost painfully sad.

 

Dean laughs, this whole thing is ridiculous. "No, man. I believe in really good sex and enjoying someone's company, but I don't think I'm built for love, Sammy."

 

"Did you just call me, 'Sammy' ?" Sam looks over at the older man, who is staring back at him with a confused smirk, totally disheveled and rumbled from head to toe. "Yeah, you did. Don't." Sam scrunches his nose up in an adorable pout.

 

Dean feels his insides clench and his poor abused body immediately start thrumming with want and desire. He sets his bowl to the side and flickers his gaze up and down the long, lean features of the man next to him, lip bitten absent-mindedly between incisors.

 

"Dude, no." Sam throws his head back on a laugh, his long, inviting neck on display and the sound is music to Dean's ears.

 

Dean finds himself laughing along, cheeks pinking up and eyes shining, "You broke my table." He insists, even though his tone is light and teasing.

 

Sam feigns offense, "I paid for that table, fuck you very much."

 

The older man snorts, shaking his head with a disbelieving roll of his eyes, "You paid for the leaf, maybe."

 

Sam crosses his arms across his chest, returns his gaze to the women crying on Andy Cohen's couch. With a defeated shrug of his shoulders, he offers, "Put it on my tab."

 

 

 

*******

 

 

Dean is talking on his bluetooth, with Eric down in finance when Sam raps on he inside of his door jamb. He's holding a box under his arms that is wrapped in shiny, silver paper, the over-sized red bow looking pretentious as shit. "Eric, can I call you back?" He throws his ear piece on his desk and motions Sam in.

 

"Here, man." Sam hands him the box and the older man eyes him warily before taking it.

 

"Well, it's not my birthday or Christmas," he shakes the box but nothing seems to rattle inside. "Well, it's not a new table. What is it?"

 

"Open it," Sam has those dimples on display and Dean can not resist mirroring his smile. "Go ahead."

 

The shorter man sits the box down on his desk and unites the bow, he turns it sideways looking for the seam of the paper and peels back the tape holding the carefully folded edge down. Sam is practically vibrating next to him before he blurts out, "Just rip it!"

 

Dean smiles to himself and continues to take his time, gingerly undoing all of the fastenings and meticulously pulling the paper loose to reveal a new Keruig coffee maker. "Thanks, Sam. You didn't have to do this, it was my fault, too." Dean is smiling in that way that causes all of the little crinkles around his eyes to pop out.

 

"Does that mean the table is partially your fault, too?" Sam is grinning back, a hopeful lilt to his voice.

 

The older man can't help but laugh back, he's been without a table for well over two weeks and taking payments in the form fucking Sam stupid at every opportunity. They both are bruised and sore, but he hasn't felt so content and calm since he started law school.

 

"So, what is it that you want?" Dean knows that Sam doesn't make a lot of money as an intern at his firm, that he would have happily just added the coffee maker, his two goose down pillows, the matching comforter and a list of other odds and ends that have ended up smashed or rendered garbage by the destructive copulation that has been happening with the man in front of him, as barter.

 

Sam seems slightly nervous, which is ridiculous as far as Dean's concerned. Once you've seen someone's 'O' face, there shouldn't be anything else that you could possibly be as embarrassed by. Unless you are afraid that someone is going to tell you 'no' for whatever favor they are about to ask for. Dean already feels the dread in his stomach before Sam opens his mouth. "My little sister is having an engagement party this weekend and I need a date. I sort of already told my family that I was seeing someone else after Matthew and I split."

 

"No, absolutely not. We aren't dating, Sam." Dean doesn't even know why he is protesting. The hopeful, kicked puppy look that Sam is shooting in his direction, pretty much guarantees that Dean is going to do anything he wants. The older man would worry more about that if the sex wasn't mind-blowing and he wasn't already addicted to it.

 

"But I don't have time to find anyone else and we are friends. It should be easy to convince them that we are a couple and then I'll just tell them after, that we split up amicably and stayed friends. I can't go home alone and let them try to play matchmaker for me." Sam is almost wheedling now, his hazel eyes filling up on cue and Dean fucking knows that he's being played.

 

"Don't make me beg, Dean. I will," Sam drops down to his knees at the older man's feet, pulling their hands together in a scene that not only has Dean's libido waking, but makes him cut his eyes to the open door of his office. "Please, please, please."

 

"Get up, Sam," He tries to pull the younger man up off of his carpet and end the spectacle that playing out before his eyes. He ignores the interested twitch his treasonous cock makes at Sam on his knees, begging.

 

"Not until you say 'yes'," Sam won't allow himself to to be pulled up and notices the flush across the standing man's face, his pupils blown wide. "I have thirty minutes of my lunch hour left, I'll blow you. Just say 'yes'."

 

"You'll blow me, anyway," Dean says, all he and Sam have been doing lately is fucking.

 

"But I'll do it right here, shove you up against your desk and just swallow you down." Sam is hedging his bets, he knows that his friend is going to say 'yes' and putting a stop to Sam's completely inappropriate offer in his office is going to expedite the matter.

 

"Yes, now get up, Sam. Please." Dean pulls away from the younger man and moves his coffee maker off of the desk and on to the filing cabinet against the wall. He's about to ask the younger man for more details about what he just agreed to, when he hears his door snick shut and the lock engage. "What are you doing?"

 

Sam closes the distance between the two of them and replies, "I'm saying 'thank you', duh." He pushes the smaller man up to the large desk behind him and nimble fingers start working on his belt.

 

Dean already knows that this entire thing is an epically bad idea, but he also knows that he has as much chance of stopping it as a pig does of flying. "Sam, don't break my desk or smash my computer."

 

Sam's three fingered salute is the last thing he sees before his eyes roll back in his head.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**WEDNESDAY**  
  
  
Dean is bent over the back of the sectional, one leg up on the cushions, a hand griping the corner and the other arm thrown around the back of Sam's neck. Sam has one massive arm around his waist, holding him tightly up against chest, chin resting on the older man's shoulder.   
  
Dean absent-mindedly thinks that he so fucking glad that he got semi-aniline leather instead of the suede, even though the suede was more the look he was going for. The thought evaporates as Sam swivels his pelvis so obscenely that Dean can feel him in his throat. The older man's own cock is trapped against his stomach and the cool, slick surface of his couch; there isn't enough friction to do anything but frustrate him, but the way that Sam's dick is spearing his prostate, this is all going to be over long before he can maneuver a hand on himself.   
  
Sam sucks at his ear lobe, worrying the flesh between teeth in deliciously erotic fashion, his hips moving as though he's the locomotive of a steam powered train. "What's your favorite color?" The question is wheezed out around the cartilage shell of Dean's ear, breath so hot and damp.  
  
Dean blinks the sweat out of his eyes, that wasn't anything close to what he thought the younger man was going to say. "B-blue." He gets it out on an exhale, after taking far too long to come up with an answer.   
  
Sam doesn't notice, or if he does, he doesn't have enough spare oxygen to vocalize it. "Orange," he's just as breathless and lethargic with his words as Dean. "Movie?"  
  
Dean's eyes cross involuntarily on one, particularly rough thrust, not seeing where this game of twenty questions is going. "Tombstone. Why?"  
  
Sam lets the man in front of him go against the sofa, choosing instead to grab at his hips and changes the angle. The flared head of his cock now doing a bump/drag motion over that sensitive bundle of nerves, causing Dean to nearly lose consciousness. "Party," the word comes out on a stutter. Before Dean even processes what is said, he follows it up with, "The African Queen...no...Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."  
  
That does get the older man's attention, "Really? Let me guess, Redford?"  
  
Sam snorts and snaps forward like a rubber band, driving Dean up on his tip toes of one foot. "Please, Newman."  
  
"Yeah, Newman." Dean sounds dreamy and fuck drunk, gasps slipping out of their own accord, his own erection sliding across the smooth surface, gloriously. Sam lets one hip go and then reaches around grabs Dean's balls that are resting on top of backrest, he squeezes tightly and then smacks the gooseflesh with just enough force to hear the pop.   
  
Dean cries out in surprise, his toes leaving the hard wood flooring and body bowing like a violin. He thrashes against the man behind him, stars bursting behind his eyes and sphincter clenching so tight that it cuts off all circulation to Sam's erection. The younger man stiffens, body going taunt and joints locking, right as his savage orgasm is yanked out from under him like rug.   
  
Dean is still hearing colors, erupting all over the seat and his hand when Sam shoves in one final time. The momentum and the clamp around his girth, hurdles both men over the top and right into the puddle of Dean's release. The older man has all of his air knocked out of him when he hits, and again, a split second later when Sam comes tumbling down on him.   
  
Sam slides out of the bruised entrance and rolls off of the smaller man, "Are you okay?" It's said with a hint of smile and Dean doesn't even have the energy to roll his eyes.   
  
"I'm taking out better health insurance. Possibly high risk." Dean is all gooey and boneless, content to stay like this until morning.   
  
"At least I didn't break the couch." The taller of the pair adds, helpfully. Dean opens his eyes after considerable effort, and shoots Sam a glare that even lions would steer clear of.   
  
  
  
**THURSDAY**  
  
  
Dean's back is against his head board, t-shirt scrunched up under his armpits, and Sam sinking down on him like a camshaft does valves. Short, blunt nails leave half-moon indentions into the epidermis of his thighs, as the older man drives his own hips up and crashes them together.   
  
"Then, the old fucker had the nerve to proofread my brief. I don't think that humans had mastered spoken language, much less grammar, when he went to college." Dean is decidedly mouthy during sex, even when Sam tries to fuck the words out of him. He often doesn't make sense when he's wound up from work, like he has been all afternoon, but Sam listens and tries to nod and grunt out his agreements at the appropriate time.   
  
Sam's own cock is slapping against his stomach like a mallet does a gong, and he can feel the vibrations rippling so hard that his teeth rattle. Dean braces his feet flat against the mattress and wraps his strong arms around Sam's thighs to help him speed up the bouncing of that masterpiece of an ass.   
  
"Favorite singer?" Dean inquires, latching onto a nipple and sucking hard. Their little game of getting to know each other before the engagement party, has been going on for a few days; he'd probably find it really odd that they only think to ask questions like these when one is balls deep in the other, if this was a real relationship. This isn't a real relationship, though.   
  
Sam sucks in a breath, relishing the suction that Dean is using on the already sore nub, it hurts way too good. "I'd have to go Elvis Presley."  
  
Dean rolls the dusky peak between his teeth, just this side of painful before pulling back and blowing cool air over the irritation. Sam clenches around him and he grits his molars to stop from going off prematurely. He's not what one would call a fan of Elvis, but he respects that the man was a game changer. "Robert Plant of Zeppelin for me, but Metallica's James Hetfield does get a very, very honorable mention."  
  
The older man's sweat covered back is now sticking to the oak surface of the headboard and his abs are being to burn with exertion. He lets his fingers tease at Sam's red, angry-looking cock, before wrapping his hand around and stripping it to the same cadence as Sam's body. A couple of twists on the upstroke and Sam is shouting out his orgasm like a battle cry. The younger man's semen bubbles out of him like a unattended sauce pan on high heat, coating Dean's stomach and chest.   
  
Sam's hair is completely soaked, dark and curling around his head from the moisture, head thrown back and that candy pink mouth forming a perfect 'O', as the aftershocks thrum through his body. The visual is the most erotic thing that Dean thinks that he's ever seen and he lets the contractions of Sam's inner walls drag him off the cliff the behind him, and into the abyss. He comes so hard that his vision gets dark and toes curl into the comforter, spilling rope after rope of white into the latex that he's trapped in.   
  
After helping the younger man to extract himself from his lap, Dean grabs the wet washcloth that is on the nightstand and cleans up the evidence of their coupling. His shirt is wet, a mixture of sweat and come darkening the gray material to charcoal, so he pulls it off and throws it towards the hamper.   
  
"So? Elvis?" The older man asks, not sure what else to say, they normally don't cuddle or engage in pillow talk.   
  
"Yeah, my gran was a big fan, she had dozens of his albums on vinyl and my sister and I would listen when we'd visit. She also owned his movies on VHS, said they were better than, 'that trash that's on tv these days.'" Sam's smiling, but his eyes are sad and glassy.   
  
"Vinyl and VHS tapes? She sounds cool as hell." Dean wants Sam's real smile back; the one with dimples and mischief, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Will she be there this weekend?"  
  
The question is innocent enough, but Sam just grows more melancholy. "She died my first year of law school."   
  
Dean feels like a fucking heel. He has no idea what to say or if Sam would even allow him to comfort him. So he does the only thing he can, "I'm sorry, I've got mint, chocolate chip in the freezer."  
  
Sam gives him a half-hearted smile and blinks back all the tears that are threatening. "Of course you do."  
  
  
  
 **FRIDAY**  
  
  
Sam's laying on his back on one side of the sectional, head right next to the armrest and feet in bend of the corner. Dean is kneeling over the arm, a thigh on each side of Sam's head and fingers in a white knuckled grip at the edge. Sam has his very long, criminally talented tongue buried inside of Dean's hole. He's been tongue fucking and sucking at the puckered opening for God knows how long, and Dean's little punched out whines are what he lives for.   
  
The older man's rim is a stretched out and sopping mess, saliva and cherry-flavored lube dripping out of the destroyed orifice, and Sam slips a finger into the warm, wet cavern without meeting any resistance. The squelch of his finger sliding in and out, combined with the slurping of his tongue, is marvelously obscene. It might, quite possibly, be the most pornographic thing that the other man has ever heard in his lifetime. Throw in the bitten off little whimpers that Dean keeps making, and Sam is so hard in his jeans that he could drive railroad spikes with his dick. Give ole John Henry a run for his money.   
  
The smaller man's legs are shaking like a newborn fawns, thighs and calves trembling on the cushions as he rocks that flawless, perfectly round bottom onto Sam's waiting mouth and digit. He's impaling himself, cheeks spread wantonly, and body undulating over the top of Sam's face. One of the younger man's huge hands is cupping one, exquisite ass cheek and keeping Dean upright.   
  
It started when Dean had opened the door to Sam, just out of the shower, hair towel dried and feet bare. Sam should be used to seeing this man in all manner of disheveled, they've fucked on every square inch of the place. Dean was only being polite when he told Sam to go ahead and have a seat, but Sam's retort of, "I'd rather you sit. On my face," had Dean's pupils dilating and heart rate increasing. Who was he to turn down an offer like that.   
  
Sam pulls his tongue out and adds a second finger, twisting them deeper inside while avoiding that spot, that heavenly, rapturous spot that will be the other man's undoing. "Get yourself off, baby." Sam chastises himself for the endearment, going right back to licking and sucking at Dean's hole. Dean's whole body is shuddering at the request.   
  
Dean lets one hand go from the death grip that he has on the chair arm, reaching inside his inner thigh to collect the shiny substance that is running his leg, praying that the towel he'd laid down is catching all of the fruity, red-tented slick. He coats his palm with the excess and grabs his diamond hard shaft in a tentative grip. He teases the head with his thumb, rubbing his nail over the slit, before stroking himself with a tighter, practiced flick of his wrist.   
  
Sam mouths at his balls and sucks a dark mark on his perineum, while his fingers find their target and attack it with experienced precision. Dean is moving his hand quicker, rotating his hips like a machine. His release is slowly building, like cars of a roller coaster being yanked up the track by a chain, he wants to balance here as long as he can, because he knows that the longer he walks this tightrope at the edge of ecstasy, the more it will be worth it.   
  
Sam moans long and hard, the vibrations making his tongue quiver and deliver pulsing sensations right into Dean's hole. Dean feels like he's going to die, right now if he doesn't come. His gyrating hips move of their own accord, bumping and grinding down onto Sam's drool covered chin. Dean's being penetrated like a sewing machine needle sinks into muslin, too much vigor and zero hinderance.   
  
Sam's jaw is aching, lips sore and his swollen cock is hell-bent on working a hole through the denim of his jeans. His wrist, the one connected to the hand holding onto that fantastic curve of skin on Dean's backside, is throbbing and bent in a odd angle, causing a pins and needle sensation to spread across the appendage.   
  
The older man is so, so close, the tiny little ripples in his prostate are building up to a critical mass. Just when he things he can't stand it anymore, his orgasm hits him like a wrecking ball. White hot pleasure spreads over his lower torso, converging in his groin and his dick goes off like champagne bottle relieved of its cork. Waves and waves of ecstasy smash into his body, lighting up his nerve endings like a slot machine in Vegas: JACKPOT, Winner, winner chicken dinner.   
  
Dean is exhausted, his muscles cramp and give out, splaying his body over the leather armrest. His ears are still ringing and he doesn't hear Sam move behind him; the younger man slides out from under him, lowering Dean's useless legs down onto the terry cloth covered fabric beneath him. He unzips his pants, finally freeing his own painful length, then searches between the cushions for the lube and condoms that are stashed all over the house like clues in a scavenger hunt. This game always ends in someone burying their treasure.   
  
The older man is barely conscious when Sam hovers over him and whispers in his ear, "Dean, you with me?"   
  
Dean isn't with him, Dean isn't even sure that he hasn't died and gone to heaven. He feels pressure at his otherwise numb opening, makes a valiant effort to get on his knees, before giving up. "Man, I can't move. Do it just like this."  
  
Sam smiles; laying like this, all fucked out and boneless, Dean is the most adorable thing on the planet. His hair is in total disarray and limbs splayed out in a disorganized pattern. His shiny, gaping hole is fluttering in the open air like an invitation. Sam's already R.S.V.P.'d.   
  
The younger man wants to go slow, but the extremely high definition porn that just played out an inch from is face has been seared into his retinas. The new edition to his spank bank is going leagues above anything else that is currently stored there. He pulls Dean's hips back in a better position, lines up and just melts into that welcoming portal.   
  
Dean sighs underneath him, he's all used up and quiet and Sam decides that just won't do. "Dean, don't go to sleep on me man, that's creepy."  
  
"Your face is creepy," comes the older man's half-hearted rebuttal. He smacks his lips and settles back onto the cushions.   
  
"That wasn't what you said when you were riding it," Sam is still sheathed deep inside of the older man, completely cocooned in warmth and pillowy goodness. He grabs the older man by the hips, manipulating one leg up and under him, then spins his body a full one hundred and eighty degrees on his dick.   
  
Dean gasps, green eyes flying open to stare up into the hazel ones above him. "You bastard."  
  
The younger man laughs, head tossed back and eyes alight, he crowds in on the man under him and eats at his mouth. His hips are barely rocking in and out, they are close and warm and it confuses the hell out of Dean.   
  
  
  
**SATURDAY**  
  
  
Dean pulls his car in to the hotel in Boston, the three hour road trip with Sam was pleasant and easy, just like everything with the two of them is. The valet takes the keys and he grabs their bags from the trunk before inhaling the salty, crisp air blowing in from the sea.   
  
Sam is noticeably anxious, he isn't terribly close with his family since his mother remarried, but he knows they only want him happy. Too bad money and society isn't how Sam measures his contentment.   
  
The Seaport Hotel is where his sister will be getting married in a year, hosting her engagement party here is all part of the fairy-tale that she's been planning since she was in pigtails and marrying Barbie off to Ken. Sam is only slightly jealous that his sister is three years younger than he is and has already found her happily ever after.   
  
Dean takes in the venue, the fresh air from the water and waves gently crashing beyond the overlook is impressive and picturesque, his own sister would be green with envy. He's nervous, but not terribly so. He and Sam are friends, lovers even if you want to get technical, but meeting someone's parents is not what he would normally do after only knowing them for six months, relationship or not.   
  
The suite they are given is spacious and elegant, the bedroom a dream; one very large four poster bed adorned with silk mosquito netting and lace sits high on a platform in the center, the dutch white of the bedding and pillows look almost ethereal.   
  
There's a set of large french doors that he assumes opens to the balcony overlooking the ocean and a slate tile fireplace that brings a modern flair to the space. The whole room is the lap of luxury, with its silver accents and embroidered touches.   
  
Sam sits his bag on an ottoman by the door and looks around, he takes in all of minute details and lavish furnishings, the complimentary champagne and chocolate dipped strawberries in the bedroom and frowns.   
  
"What?" Dean asks, not seeing anything wrong with the accommodations.   
  
"There's only one bed," Sam says, almost reluctantly.   
  
While it is true that they normally do not sleep together, not in the tradition sense anyway, Dean can't help but laugh. "That's what you're worried about?" He approaches the younger man and lays hand on his shoulder, "It's one night, Sam. I think we can manage it."  
  
The younger man doesn't look fully convinced, and Dean's traitorous heart catches in his chest. "As long as you don't trash all the furniture, it will be fine, okay? Now, what time are we meeting your family?"  
  
Sam glances at his watch, "An hour and a half, downstairs in the restaurant. You want to try out the bed?" Sam is only halfway kidding, his mouth pulling up on one side and eyebrow arching in question.   
  
Dean chuckles and shakes his head, "Dude, I just sat in a car with you for three hours and I have to sleep in that bed tonight. We've got an hour and a half until I have to go downstairs, meet your family and pretend that we are head over heels in love." The younger man at least has the decency to look sheepish, but that kicked puppy-dog look is going to be Dean's undoing. "Come on, I'll let you blow me in the shower."  
  
He's pulling off his shirt and heading in the direction of the ensuite when Sam picks his jaw up off the floor and chases after him. "You'll let me?"  
  
The older man is down to his boxers briefs, the hot water is already causing steam to billow out into the enclosure when Sam barges into the room. "I'm generous like that," the older man offers just before the fabric of shorts hits the tile at his feet.   
  
  
*******  
  
  
Sam's mother and sister are enamored with the older man, gushing about his looks and eyes and Sam thinks it actually might break their hearts when he has to tell them that they broke up. He wonders briefly if Dean will get his family in the split, then shakes his head at the ridiculousness of his current train of thought.   
  
The champagne and conversations have been flowing freely when the guests are instructed to have a seat for dinner to be served. The younger man guides Dean to the main table and pulls out the seat next him, Dean is a little perturbed that he has become the girl in this relationship, but it's Sam's family.   
  
After the toasts and congratulations are out of the way, more champagne than Dean should ever consume and dessert that will make Dean's work out next week never ending, the band starts to play in the background. The men in Sam's family congregate next to the bar and Sam drags Dean by the hand with him.   
  
Sam's step-father is the textbook definition of white privilege, his expensive suit and deep pockets command the room. He's pulled Sam, Dean and Sam's future brother-in-law into a friendly debate about the misuse of writs of habeas corpus in today's political climate. They are knocking back shots of expensive bourbon, using crass language and Dean can't think of anywhere he'd rather be. There are a few places, but not in public and fully clothed.   
  
They are discussing one of his step father's recent wins, when Sam's sister, Kate, pulls her brother out onto the dance floor. He protests the whole way, but soon enough, he gives in and they are twirling around like it's Dancing With the Stars. Dean can't help the smile that lights up his face when he sees the younger man spinning and dipping his sibling without a care in the world.   
  
The band slows, Sam and Kate start slow dancing. "You didn't tell me he was that hot, Sam." His sister says, she can see the fond smile that Dean is directing their way from across the room.   
  
"You're engaged, Katie bug," Sam sounds scandalized as he turns them enough that he can see Dean still conversing with the other men of his family. He's still talking to the men in earshot, but she keeps smiling at Sam every time he looks that way.   
  
"Engaged, not dead." His sister argues, following his eyes to see the man in question, still smiling at her brother like they have the biggest secret in the world. "He's got it bad," she says and Sam stumbles.   
  
Sam apologizes for nearly stepping on her toes and then looks at her again, eyes big as saucers. "What?"  
  
"Come on, Sam. Look at his face." Sam doesn't know what to say so he gazes back across the room and sees Dean still looking his way, dopey grin and twinkle in his eyes. Sam has to return it, Dean like this is infectious. "Look at your face, you two are disgusting. Disgustingly adorable."  
  
Sam needs a drink, or five. The song ends and he hugs his sister, "I'm really happy for you."  
  
She squeezes him tighter, says in his ear, "I'm happy for you, Sam. Now, you two need to dial it back, this is my day."   
  
Sam can only nod and make his way back to the bar. He's close enough to hear Dean's rich laughter over everyone else's. Sam shakes his head, they both are drunk and his sister is an idiot. It's a party, of course they both are having a good time.   
  
  
*******  
  
  
By the time two am rolls around, most of the guests have retired to their rooms or left to make their journey home. The bartender calls out last call and Sam tells his sister and her future husband goodnight. He and Dean are both deep into their cups, silly and affectionate with each other as they stumble towards their room, arm and arm.   
  
The keycard flashes green, Sam opens the door and picks up the older man over his shoulder, not stopping until he slings him across the fluffy surface of the bed. The younger man kicks out of his dress shoes, loses his socks and climbs up on the mattress to pull at the patent leather and cotton that his companion is wearing. Dean is giggling like a child and isn't much help when Sam unbuttons his shirt and begins divesting him of his suit.   
  
The older man is floating between buzzed and plastered, face flushed and hair damp from the alcohol. His cheeks hurt from the permanent smile that has graced his mouth for the last few hours. He hasn't been able to make it go away.   
  
"Dean? How drunk are you?" Sam asks, hovering two inches from his face. Dean opens those impossibly green eyes and Sam laughs at the way they nearly cross looking up at his.   
  
"I'm not blitzed, if that's what you're asking, but I couldn't pass a sobriety test right now." Sam tangles their fingers together and presses the older man's hands against the mattress by his head, before ducking down to press their lips together lightly. Dean winds his strong, bowed legs around Sam's waist and squeezes them tightly, locking their bodies together without the use of his arms.   
  
Sam places gentle kisses on his eyelids and nose, across his cheek and down his jaw, just to nip at his earlobes and throat. His lips dance softly across the older man's clavicle and the hollow space in between, as his lower body render's Dean motionless, trapped beneath muscle and tanned flesh. Normally, Dean would protest to being manhandled and restrained, but it feels too good and he's too intoxicated by it to struggle.   
  
Sam lets his hands go, reaching down to cup his face and brings their lips back together before pushing at the steel thighs that are constricting him like a python chokes its prey. Dean finally lets him go, only to wrap his arms around his neck, licking and biting at Sam's mouth. "Let go for a minute," Sam says between kisses and pulls at the cotton and spandex of Dean's underwear.   
  
The older man barely acknowledges the cool air from the room, blowing across his thighs and sensitive cock as his last article of clothing is pulled away. Sam's own bare skin settles down on top of Dean again and gathers him up with a strong bicep, before slipping a hand between them to play with the cleft of Dean's ass.   
  
The alcohol and weeks of marathon sex they've been having, makes Sam's thick fingers slide right home easily, the slight burn is a welcomed sensation as the younger man stretches him open.   
  
It feels like hours, but could have only been minutes when Sam finally stills his ministrations, and pushes inside of the older man one inch at a time. Dean loudly moans into his mouth, relishing the fullness that Sam's fingers can't quite duplicate.   
  
They move together, lazily, almost in an uncoordinated rhythm, neither one sober or awake enough to do anything besides this torturously slow, maddeningly arduous climb towards their peak.   
  
Dean's eyes are tightly closed, head thrown back against the pillows, long neck bared and mouth opened in a silent scream, when Sam feels his channel start to flutter around him like a heartbeat. He takes ahold of the older man's length, his still lube slicked hand strokes him to completion, with his quiet little gasps the only sound in the room.   
  
Sam slips a hand in between the man beneath him's ass and the bedding, the other arm around his shoulders, and weight balancing on his elbows and knees. He plunges as deep as he can get into the still contracting orifice, sucking Dean's plush bottom lip into his mouth and crosses the finish line seconds after. It's saccharine sweet and marshmallow goodness.  
  
Sam untangles his body after a length pause and when Dean's pants have slowed down closer to normal. The older man's hooded eyes are sleepy and halfway closed, idiotic grin still on his face. He tracks Sam going into the bathroom, then settles his lethargic body back on his pillows and lets his fuzzy brain lull him to sleep.   
  
It takes quite a bit of maneuvering to move an near unconscious body, especially one as heavy as Dean is, but Sam manages to clean them up as best as his own sluggish body will permit. He pulls the sheets and comforter from under the prone man and pulls him into his arms. Dean probably isn't going to like waking up as the little spoon, but Sam's way too content and inebriated to try and figure out why. He arranges the blankets over their bodies and falls asleep pressed up behind the smaller man.   
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

The sun isn't even fully up when Sam opens his eyes, there is a faint light creeping into the bedroom of the suite and a warm and solid body in his arms. Dean is still spooned up against the younger man and sleeping soundly, Sam has to extract himself stealthily and roll out towards the bathroom.

 

Sam is still fuzzy-brained and a little drunk from the night before, his limbs pleasantly aching and sore, but in the way that tells him that last night had been amazing. He crawls back into the bed and slips in behind the older man who has barely moved from where Sam left him.

 

Dean moans in his sleep and backs his splendid little ass right into Sam's groin and quietens against the pillow again. If Sam was hard when he woke up, he's extremely hard now and nuzzles up against the neck of the sleeping man to place kisses behind his ear and suck on an ear lobe.

 

Dean sighs, he sounds even more content as he grinds into the man behind him. Sam doesn't want to wake his companion and argues with himself about how awkward this is going to be when Dean fully awakes. The throbbing erection he is sporting warring with his brain for oxygen and Sam isn't lucid enough to keep from letting his hand slip down from Dean's chest to rest lightly on the older man's length.Dean isn't fully hard, but he's a long way from being soft; Sam strokes him loosely until Dean is all but fucking his hand.

 

Sam guides his other hand down to the cleft between the globes of Dean's ass and finds him still sloppy and loose from the night before and Sam has to palm his own painful cock to keep from just burying himself back into that warm, welcoming crevice. Instead, the younger man is content to slide between Dean's perfectly round cheeks, and he strokes his hand faster.

 

"Please, Sam," Dean is groaning in his sleep and Sam feels slightly guilty for taking advantage of his sleeping friend. That only last as long as it takes for Dean to moan again, voice sounding so sleepy and low before he backs into him with a purpose. "I need you, please."

 

Dean is either having the wettest dream in history or he's more awake than Sam thought, and the younger man doesn't quite have the facilities to deny him of this. Sam has never been more happy to have abnormally long arms as he reaches behind him and retrieves the strip of condoms on his side of the bed. Dean is backing up into nothing when Sam rolls back over and he can't get the package open fast enough.

 

Once he rolls the latex down and lubes himself up, faster than he's ever done before, Dean is slowly stoking himself and letting out those breathless little whimpers that will be the death of Sam. He slots in behind the older man is getting ready to line himself up, when his conscious gets the better of him. "Dean, are you awake?"

 

"Mmmhmm," isn't exactly the response he's looking for, but he's too turned on and still too drunk to argue with the man in front of him. He inserts two fingers into Dean's hole and Dean sighs, it's a mix of satisfied and aroused, before Dean opens his mouth again, "You waiting for an engraved invitation?"

 

That's all the permission the taller man needs and he sinks down into the heat and goodness of the other man's entrance, not stopping until he's fully inside the welcoming, moist channel. He can feel Dean's heart beating from inside him and it makes all of the remaining blood in Sam's brain rush south. 

 

It's lazy and close, they move together on their sides, Dean throwing a leg over Sam's and grabbing at his hips to pull the younger man in as deep as he can take him.There are half-moon indentations from his short, manicured nails on Sam's own backside by the time they find the smooth, drowsy rhythm where neither one is completely awake or sober.

 

It's almost hypnotic, the way that sluggish limbs and heavy hands are are pressed into each other, moving so slowly that neither man is even close to their peak. Both just moving enough that the friction feels heavenly and too good to stop, but neither feeling the urgency to move any faster or chase their release.

 

The sun has fully risen and light is seeping in through the lace on the canopy when Sam feels himself getting closer to the edge. He doesn't speed up or thrust any harder, just twists Dean's body until his shoulder's are against the pillows and Sam has unrestricted access to that phenomenal mouth.

 

Sam looms over Dean, who's eyes are scrunched shut and fingers are searching. He kisses and bites at pillow soft lips, before changing the angle at which he's penetrating the man underneath him. Dean gasps, never even cracking his eyelids and soon is spilling all over Sam's barely there grasp. He's beautiful like this, hair adorably mussed and lips slightly parted, a faint pink blush scattered across his face and chest. Sam rests their foreheads together before flinging himself after Dean into his own burgeoning ecstasy.

 

Dean finally blinks his eyes open and reaches up to sweep Sam's hair out of his face, before raising up to allow their lips to meet. Sam can feel his own smile mirroring the one Dean gives him before sleepily saying, "Good morning."

 

"Good morning to you, that was a hell of a wake up call." Dean yawns and stretches before settling back on his side of the bed.

 

Sam has no idea what to say, the silence isn't really awkward but he has no idea how to navigate around Dean like this. "I'm going to grab a shower, my sister wants us to come down for brunch before we get on the road."

 

"Want some company?" Dean feels slightly silly asking, but smiles even brighter when Sam nods and grabs his hand to pull him into the bathroom.

 

 

*******

 

 

Kate, her fiancé, David, and Sam's mom and step-father are the only people still at the hotel, when Sam finally drags Dean down to brunch. They all look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed compared to the two of them. Sam's family is smiling indulgently at the pair of love birds. The sun-light is too bright and everything is too shiny this morning, but Dean returns the smiles from those closest to Sam.

 

The younger man once again pulls out his chair for him and Dean doesn't seem to even mind as he slips in to the padded seat. "Good morning," is parroted around the table and everyone passes food and a pitcher of mimosas. It's a upscale version of hair of the dog and a partially greasy breakfast and Dean accepts it graciously. There's also a bottle of ibuprofen, so he's not the only one feeling a little hungover.

 

The conversation is comfortable and light, it makes Dean remember how intimate their morning had been, all gentle touches and affectionate kisses. He likes it hard and rough, loves how Sam can manhandle him all over the place without totally dominating him; that doesn't mean that he doesn't occasionally want it slow and drowsy, his limbs all sleep warm and pliant.

 

Next to him, he sees Sam's boyish grin, beautiful and his heart catches in his throat. He always wants to wake up to the giant child who can be surprising filthy and at the same time tender and soft. The thoughts cause his face to start to flush and he hides his own emotions behind his glass. 

 

"So Dean?" Sam's mother, Mary says, taking a drink from her glass filled with mimosa."What are you planning to do when Sam passes the bar and moves back to California to join the family business?"

 

Dean chokes on his own drink and starts coughing excessively, until Sam pats him on the back. The older man is teary-eyed and flushed red when he finally catches his breath. "California?" He tries to act nonplussed by the new information, but the high pitch to his voice betrays him.

 

"Yes. David is from Boston, Samuel didn't tell you he was moving back after he passes the bar?" John, Sam's step father asks, taking a drink of the orange colored beverage in his hand.

 

Luckily, Dean is a lawyer and recovers quickly. He clears his throat, "I knew he was, I just wasn't sure what we were planning on doing; but we want to be together, right sweetheart?" The hand that is clasping the younger man's, squeezes tightly. Too tightly and Sam nearly yelps.

 

Dean is looking at Sam affectionately, but after all this time, he can see the other man is mad. Sam was going to tell Dean, he was. He just didn't know how to broach the subject; Dean is the best friend he's ever had.

 

"We will figure something out, darling," Sam squeezes back to get the older man to ease up on his fingers. He also tries to telegraph that they will discuss it later.

 

The rest of the meal is still laced with too much tension and Dean tries his best to curtail his wounded pride; by the time the waitress comes with the check the older man has a throbbing headache and aching muscles that have nothing to go with the alcohol or their physical activities from the night prior.

 

 

*******

 

 

Car all packed up and goodbyes said to Sam's family, Dean guides the younger man down to his Prius and gets into the driver seat. No one around to witness their coupledom, so he drops Sam's hand and allows him to open his own door. 

 

"Dean...?" Sam starts as soon as the ignition turns over.

 

"Don't, Sam. It's fine." Dean says through gritted teeth. He knows he's shaking, but he has to be trapped in the car for the lengthy three hour drive back to New York. "We aren't dating and you don't owe me an explanation. This just makes it easier to sell our breakup. We couldn't handle the long distance and I couldn't transfer on old man Singer like that." Dean appeases with a forced smile.

 

Sam wants to cry, he genuinely wants Dean to be his boyfriend and this weekend had been amazing. They just click and that's before the sex is factored in. He thinks that Dean feels the same, but if he puts it out in the open and he's wrong, he will lose the best friend he's ever had. 

 

Dean turns the radio on to break the silence that is near stifling.He has no idea what to say, but doesn't want to ruin their friendship by making this awkward. They agreed that this was strictly two friends helping each other out and neither one wanted a relationship. He's the one who developed feelings, so it's his problem and not Sam's. If being friends with the younger man is the only way he can have him, then he will just have to settle.

 

 

*******

 

 

Once back at Dean's apartment, the older man unlocks the door and allows Sam inside the building. The awkward silence was grating and Dean could barely stand it.

 

"You hungry?" The question more of a way to break the silence than actual necessity, as the older man pulled take-out menus from the drawer in the kitchen.

 

"Yeah, bottomless pit here." Sam doesn't want to go home right now, not after the weekend that they had spent together.

 

"Here," Dean hands the younger man a bottle of beer and leans against the counter. "Pizza?" Dean wasn't really that hungry, but he could eat pizza anyday.

 

"Yeah man, sounds good. Listen..."Sam starts but isn't sure how to word his next sentence. "I'm not sure that I want to move back to California. It's just been always assumed that I would, but no one asked me. I should have told you."

 

Dean waves him off. "Dude, would you stop? We aren't dating and you don't owe me an explanation. Seriously."

 

"Okay." The younger man forces a smile and nods his head. He takes a long pull of his beer and then grabs one of the menus.

 

 

*******

 

 

Two large pizzas and nearly half of a case of beer later and the pair are sitting on the couch watching Sunday Night Football. It's getting super late and Dean knows he has a long day tomorrow. That said, he can't just kick Sam out.

 

Sam has other ideas about how he wants to spend their Sunday Night and closes the distance between them on the couch. He even pulls the Zach Morris move of stretching his arms and leaving one behind Dean on the couch. Dean would laugh at how cheesy it all is, if his heart wasn't so conflicted.

 

Sam leans in to lick the shell of Dean's ear and that's when the older man knows he has to put a stop to this. As much as he wants to take Sam to the bedroom and just forget all about everything, he can't. He's getting way too attached to the younger man and he's going to end up with a broken heart. Hell, its halfway broken already.

 

"Sam?" His voice cracks and is higher pitched than he'd ever cop to. "Man, I'm beat. The drive and all those carbs have floored me. I'm going to turn in. You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like, but I'm going to crash."

 

Sam feels like a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped on him. In the few months that whatever this is has been going on,Dean has never been too tired or not in the mood to jump Sam's bones.

 

"Yeah, of course." The young intern tries to not sound too disappointed, after all, they agreed that both parties had to be in the mood. It just feels like something big has changed and nothing will ever be the same."I'll just go. Thank you for this weekend, really." After getting to his feet, he moves in for a kiss. Dean moves his head and gives him the equivalent of a bro hug.

 

"That's what friends are for," He sounds sadder than he should and pulls back. "I'll see you at work tomorrow? Be careful."

 

No other words are exchanged as Dean follows the taller man to his front door. Why does this feel like a goodbye to Sam?

 

 

*******

 

 

The elevator dings the next morning and Sam enters the small enclosure. He takes in the power suits and briefcases of those on board, but notices the absence of a certain executive. Dean is probably running late or is early, it's not uncommon to not always see each other upon arriving to work. He focuses on getting down to the tech guys and picking up the sketches that Henriksen wants for his eight am meeting.

 

By one-thirty, when not a single text has been answered, Sam heads up to the corporate floor and Dean's office. The door is locked and a petite red-head sees Sam knocking, she stops and says, "Dean called in today. Said he wasn't feeling well."

 

Sam nods at the young ginger and gestures to his messenger bag, "I just have those briefs he wanted." The girl looks like she doesn't care what Sam wants with the lawyer and sheprobably doesn't.

 

 **Are you okay**? Sam types out and heads back down to the elevators.

 

 

*******

 

 

It's five-thirty when Sam lets himself into Dean's building and up to the fifth floor. He knocks for ten minutes before deciding to text the man again.

 

 **Hey man, getting worried. U ok?** He doesn't want to sound needy, but it isn't like Dean to not text him back all day. Sam does the only thing that he can, he goes back home and stares at his phone that is suspiciously not ringing.

 

 

*******

 

 

It's no surprise that Dean isn't in the elevator on Tuesday, so Sam makes a beeline to his office on his lunch hour. Sam doesn't know what he's expecting, but it's not Dean talking into his Bluetooth.

 

"There needs to be an addendum added on page six, sub clause three. Strike out the word appropriation and replace it with merger." Dean holds up his finger for Sam to give him a second.

 

"Yeah, that covers it. As soon as it's ready to go, I'll get it over to you guys," Dean ends the call and looks up at Sam.

 

"Hi," the younger man is all shy smiles and looks at Dean hopeful and seemingly way to young to have engaged in all the filthy things that they've been up to.

 

"Hey, Sam," Dean can't help but return the smile and gestures him further into his space and into one of the chairs of the room.

 

"I came by last night, you weren't there." Sam knows he has absolutely no right to be jealous, but he can't stop his body from feeling it.

 

Dean sighs, he knows that the past few months he's been spending with Sam almost exclusively and that it needs to stop. He has other friends and if he ever wants to move on from the fact that he's fallen for his best friend, he's going to have to get back on the horse and start dating again. "I went out with some of the guys last night, I was going to text you, but I got caught up and forgot." Its a lie and a flimsy one. Dean did go out with some of his friends, but he spent the night sulking and missing the younger man.

 

"Hey, no worries, I was just worried about you being sick." That's only partially true, as Sam had wanted to see Dean and discuss what happened over the weekend.

 

"Just needed a day, man. You know how it is around here." Dean is smiling at him, but it's not the one that reaches his eyes and causes those tiny eye crinkles that are way sexier than they should be.

 

 

*******

 

 

Friday evening finds the pair in one of their favorite sports bars, Dean is playing darts with one of his buddies named Tony that has sort of adopted Sam into the fold. He's watching a slightly tipsy Dean, nail the bullseye with surprising accuracy.

 

Sam is nursing his beer and enjoying the view from his seat, as Dean and Tony laugh and banter with each other. Tony is one of associates at Singer and Turner, he works on Dean's floor and is probably someone that Sam would have made friends with himself, even if he hadn't already been friends with Dean.

 

Sam is so lost in his thoughts of last weekend, of how seamlessly the older man fits in with his life that he's oblivious to everyone around him. He doesn't notice the stares of the other patrons or when people try to catch his eye.

 

So immersed in his own thoughts, that the younger man doesn't notice the man standing at the table until the voice pulls him from his musings. "Hey man. This seat taken?" Sam looks over and sees a guy with blonde hair and kind eyes gesture to one of the empty chairs around his table. The bar has filled up to beyond capacity and Sam doesn't think anything of it.

 

"Nah, man. Knock yourself out." Sam says, easily, never taking his eyes off the older man across the bar.

 

"Kyle," the other man offers his hand to Sam before sitting.

 

"Sam," the seated man shakes it, taking in the newcomer again. He's attractive, fit and just a little shorter than himself. His gazed wanders back across the way, where Tony and Dean are pulling darts out of the board and laughing. Dean has his head thrown back in that breathtaking way that does things to Sam's insides and his heart clenches tightly.

 

"He yours?" The guy, Kyle, asks. He's tracked Sam's stare and picked up the affection Sam is looking at the older man with.

 

"Nah man, just my best friend." Sam wants to lie and say yes, that he's attached and to beat it. But it isn't the truth and Dean would be pissed.

 

"Is he taken?" It's not the question that he was expecting, and it causes his stomach to move up in his throat.

 

"Man, he's my best friend. If you want to know anything personal about him, you'll have to ask him yourself." Sam is polite, but that sentiment is fading fast when he gestures at the waitress and orders another beer.

 

Dean turns, looking back towards their table. He sees Sam chatting up a hot guy and he misses the next thing that Tony is saying.Sam doesn't see the older man's face fall at the sight.

 

"I need more beer," Dean says to his confused friend and takes off towards the table as quickly as he can without jumping over patrons and tables in his way, thus making a scene. Their friend is left standing at the empty dart board and relinquishes the spot the other customers as he follows Dean back to table.

 

"Dean?" Sam missed the older man approaching, but quickly recovers. "This is Kyle, was it?" Sam knows with a hundred percent certainty that that's the guy’s name and why he's acting suddenly disinterested, Dean doesn't know. The guy certainly is easy on the eyes, Dean doesn't have the right to be possessive.

 

Dean shakes hands with the newcomer, "Hey man." He doesn't want to be a dick, not when he doesn't own Sam. The guy is seated in the chair that Dean had vacated, so he drops down into the one opposite of the man, leaving Tony to sit on Sam's other side.

 

Introductions roll on by with Sam suddenly really interested in what Dean is saying. His eyes dark and challenging in the low light from the room. If Sam wants to play it like this, Dean is game. He's the one who let someone encroach on their space. He paints on the smile that Sam hates, the one that is as fake as the day is long and doesn't quite touch his eyes. 

 

It takes two more beers and finding out that Kyle is from Michigan, a pediatrician and new to the city before it dawns on him that it's not Sam the man has been flirting with. Sam seems oblivious or apathetic and Dean doesn't know why that hurts him so, but he fills that empty with the alcohol that Tony has steadily ordering as the evening progresses. 

 

Tony is a decidedly bad influence and before Sam knows it, he's had three shots of tequila and at least as many beers when Dean gets up from the table. The younger man doesn't know how he missed the discussion of his best friend leaving with the doctor sitting at his table, but Dean is standing up and putting his jacket on by his seat.

 

"I'll talk to you in the morning?" Dean is saying, patting Sam's shoulder and bumping into his other friend. As much as Dean wants to drag Sam home with him and make sure that he drinks water and has a greasy breakfast, the older man can't.

 

"Kay," Sam slightly slurs, his focus and judgement impaired as Dean silently gestures to Tony to make sure Sam gets home. Their friend decidedly does not have the best judgement, but he won't leave an inebriated and vulnerable Sam to his own devices.

 

Tony is only momentarily confused, he knows that Sam and Dean have this weird sort of friendship, but with the way the two have been eye fucking for months, he was sure that they'd both at least knocked boots a time or two. But Tony is straight and he decides that he doesn't want to know anything about how open their friendship is and waves Dean off, agreeing that the youngest man at the table will be see to.

 

Kyle has his hand on Dean's back when the cool air hits them on the sidewalk and Dean only glances back once before allowing himself to be guided into the throng of people moving about the city's streets.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean has possibly had way too much to drink when the blonde that he has left the bar with crowds into his side. No matter how much he wants to get over Sam and the fact that his best friend is leaving him in a few months, Dean knows with absolute certainty that he won't be able to do this.  
  
"Your place or mine?" Kyle is breathing heavily into Dean's ear, his breath hot and laced with beer when he leans in. Dean can feel the muscles of the other man's body through the bulk of his jacket and closes his eyes to calm the reaction that the alcohol is having on his inhibitions. Kyle moves closer, heat and hardness pressing against Dean, but it's wrong somehow.  
  
Dean opens his eyes and looks at the man he's leaned up against, he's only a little bit taller than Dean, eyes soulful and chocolate brown. They are gorgeous, but don't even come close to the way Sam's own kaleidoscope eyes take his breath away. He's not big enough or tall enough, the hand that grips his waist is large, but can not compete to the ones that have been contorting the older man's body into positions for months. Dean flushes and fights back a moan at just the thought of Sam moving him almost against his will.  
  
"Hey, you ok?" Kyle is frowning at the other man, for the first since he spotted Dean across the bar, the man looks impossibly young and puzzled. Dean had kept a steady flow of alcohol into his bloodstream, but he's not wasted, or he didn't seem like he was when Kyle asked him if he wanted to get out of there.  
  
Dean draws in another shaky breath and wills the contents of his stomach down. The wave of nausea that he feels has absolutely nothing to do with the amount of intoxicants he's imbibed and everything to do with the fact that he no longer knows how to do this. It's not just that he doesn't know how to, Dean physically can not stop thinking about Sam.  
  
"Your place or mine?" Dean hears the doctor say and it sounds like the words are coming from under fifty gallons of water as the other man fumbles with his smart phone and pulls up an app to take get them a ride off the sidewalk.  
  
Dean pushes all of the thoughts of Sam's smile and eyes that could rival the prisms of a rainbow and types his address into the Uber app and smiles with as much seduction and lust as he can muster before handing the black rectangle back to his companion.  
  
The ride in the Honda Accord that takes them back to Dean's apartment is awkward and Dean sits uncomfortably on his own side of the backseat, that is way too small for two men over six feet.  
  
When he finally opens his front door and leads the other man into his home, Dean's insides are screaming at him nonstop that this is the worst idea in the history of of bad ideas; but he just walks into the kitchen, retrieves a bottle of whiskey, two glasses and returns to the living room. Kyle has taken a seat on the couch where Sam has fucked Dean six ways from Sunday on and Dean pours out the first shot to drown out the thoughts that maybe they should have gone to Kyle's place.  
  
Kyle sits his own glass on the table and scoots into Deans side, cupping his face in his hand and then crashing their lips together, pressing his well muscled body tightly against Dean's and licking into Dean's mouth. The pediatrician's other hand caresses his side before landing over Dean's crotch and Dean arches unto the touch before tangling his tongue around the one invading his mouth. Dean reaches out to grip a hand that is too small and that's when the record scratches in his ear and he pulls away.  
  
"Stop..." He yanks away from the overeager man, placing a hand on his chest, trying to be as firm as possible without being too rough. "Wait..." He has to get even more forceful as Kyle persists to try and chase his lips and let his hands wander over Dean's lower torso.  
  
"What's wrong?" Kyle finally seems to let his common sense and Dean’s protests permeate the cloud of his lust and intoxication. He sits back and takes in the other man's wide eyes and pained expression.  
  
"Look man, I'm sorry if I lead you on; but I don't do hook ups or casual sex." Dean can't believe what he's saying because all he's been doing has been casual sex. He and Sam have been having all kinds of casual sex all over this very apartment.  
  
Kyle stares at him for a moment, at how utterly young and broken he looks, but at the same time how beautiful and breathtaking he is right now and shakes his head. "I really was not looking to get into a relationship right now, new city, new start. Plus, I kinda had a bad break-up before I moved here."  
  
Dean sighs. He's not sure if it's relief or what, but he gets it. He sits back against the couch, runs a hand through his hair when Kyle looks over at him again. "But then I look at you and you're the best looking thing I've seen in this city," he shrugs and something in Dean's stomach tightens. "So maybe I think I'd like to date you?"  
  
It's the biggest chick flick moment of his life and he and Sam would both be laughing and throwing popcorn at the screen if this happened in their favorite show, but he finds himself giving Kyle his number and showing him out with plans to grab coffee the next day, after they've sobered up.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
Dean wakes up and forces himself to the gym, after dry swallowing four Advil because he couldn't wait for his Keurig to shut off. He runs four miles and lifts twenty pounds more than he normally does, because Dean Smith absolutely does not put out on the first date and however sore he is, will help enforce that.  
  
When he's leaving the gym, his phone vibrates in his pocket and he opens it to see Sam's name on the screen. He makes a a quick decision and thumbs it open, "Yeah?"  
  
"Hey, man." Sam sounds like he always does. Not at all bothered that Dean went home with someone else last night and Dean tries to keep from letting it bother him.  
  
"What's up, man?" Dean shoulders his bag and pushes the door open to the outside, the sound of traffic and people flooding his senses as he merges into the throng of pedestrians and passersby on the sidewalk.  
  
"Want to grab some some beers and see the game tonight?" Sam sounds hopeful, even eager and Dean hates to be the one to sour his mood.  
  
"I can't tonight. I'm meeting Kyle for coffee in a couple of hours," Dean rushes through the explanation. He doesn't want to lie to Sam, but this isn't exactly something he wants to tell his best friend either.  
  
"The guy from the bar?" Sam can't hide the surprise in his voice and Dean counts that as a win.  
  
"Yeah. Something wrong with that?" Dean doesn't even know why he's starting a fight with Sam. Sam's his best friend and Dean is just trying to move on and salvage what's left of his heart.  
  
"No. Of course not." There's an awkward pause and Sam sighs into the receiver. "Just be careful, man."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean says, harsher than he intends.  
  
"Nothing, it means to be careful." Sam's defensive and belligerent.  
  
Dean is still angry, but he's determined to not let it put him an even worse disposition about his situation with Sam. Kyle is hot and smart and clearly has his shit together if he's a doctor, and its been a really long time since he's had someone who is actually an adult interested.  
  
The older man sighs into the phone and weaves his way in and out of the people of the city and their single-minded focus of their menial task of the day. "I don't need you to be my bodyguard, Sam. I'm a big boy, tie my own shoes and everything."  
  
"Far be it from me to actually give a fuck about what happens to my best friend, you jerk!" Dean's never been on the receiving end of Sam Wesson's wrath and it honest to God scares him a little.  
  
"What in the fuck are you talking about, you bitch?" Best friend or not, Dean isn't just about to let Sam insinuate that Dean doesn't care about his friends. He's a shitty boyfriend, a horrible son and at times just a mediocre lawyer, but he's loyal and a damn good friend.  
  
"Typical," Sam's tone is icy, and downright petty. "I didn't expect you to know."  
  
Dean stops in his tracks on the cement and the guy behind him slams into him. The telltale sound of the phone disconnecting snicks in his ear and two more people crash into him before he can get his wits about him and move over closer to the store fronts. He leans against the brick of one of the thousands of boutiques in town and glares at the screen of his phone. His wallpaper stares back with it's accusing scowl, like he needs confirmation that Sam fucking hung up on him.  
  
"Real mature, Sam." He says to no one in particular and scrolls down his contacts to Sam's face. The picture is one of the younger man on his couch, smiling like a moron with his eyes glossed over and unfocused. He'd taken that picture on night when they'd stayed up and played Guitar Hero until wee hours of the morning and drank too many beers. He lets his thumb hover over the green phone icon for a split second before shaking his head and putting it in his pocket.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
After showering and spending an obscene amount of time obsessing about his outfit, deciding to cancel at least a dozen times and nearly hyperventilating, Dean leaves his apartment. He's wearing his favorite dark washed jeans that make his ass look fantastic, an olive green cashmere sweater that clings in all the right places and his favorite pair of Doc Martens. He looks nothing like Dean Smith the lawyer. His black leather jacket gives him just enough of an edge to his usual boy next door look, even if it provides little protection against the elements.  
  
The coffee shop is busy, but it's not slammed and Dean is early. He paces out front on the pavement until five minutes after their agreed upon time ultimately bites the bullet and enters. The bells on the door alert some of the patrons to his presence, but most just go about their business when he enters the establishment.  
  
It only takes a few seconds of scanning the room to find his date and he smiles a little awkwardly at the man before heading his way. Kyle stands up and Dean appreciates the view even more in the broad light of day. The guy reminds him of Zack Morris, or what Dean thinks he'd look like as an adult. The physician is dressed in faded and worn jeans and a baby blue button down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up his impressive forearms. They look strong and capable, but can't compete with Sam's. Dean mentally chastises himself and holds out a hand to the man. He resigned himself to the possibility that Sam is the standard by which all others will be held to and quite likely will be found lacking.  
  
Kyle wraps his warm hand around Dean's in a firm handshake and gestures in the direction of the counter. "You look good man, coffee?"  
  
"Yeah, you too." The attorney makes no attempts to hide the way that his eyes skim appreciatively over his companion's body. "That sounds great."  
  
Kyle lets Dean go in front of him and is pleasantly surprised to see that the doctor orders his coffee just like Dean normally does, black and unsweetened. Sam always has lattes or flavored coffees and it's one of the biggest reasons that Dean stocks his Keurig like he does.  
  
The conversation actually flows easily and Dean finds himself actually flirting and having a good time as he and the other man trade out classic first date information. There is just hint of teasing sprinkled in with politeness to make it interesting and Dean doesn't even have to pretend that he wants to know everything about the pediatrician seated across from him.  
  
"So they wheel the guy back into the OR and I get the X-ray," Kyle is regaling him with horror stories from the ER. "And I should not be laughing about this because the dude is hemorrhaging and in emergency surgery, but there is not only a pair of pliers in there, there's a dragon shaped cock sleeve that is stuck in his intestinal wall. It had slipped off and they were so high on poppers that they tried to use pliers to remove it. Which forced it right into the membrane." He's laughing through the whole punchline of the story and Dean can't fight back the intense giggles coming out of his throat at the absurdity of it.  
  
"Was the guy okay?" Dean sucks in a breath and tries to stamp down the guffaws that just keep coming out. It's possible that they both are horrible human beings.  
  
"Yeah, surgeon fixed him right up, though he was on a pretty much liquid diet for six weeks. The worst part way the attending was an old school saw bones who was not in any way amused by the happenings nor the snickers of all of the residents and nursing staff." Kyle has let his own laughter die down as he breaks Dean's gaze and inspects the nails of one of his hands. "So you and Sam?"  
  
Dean is caught off guard by the complete one eighty that their dialogue has taken, "Sam's my best friend." End of story, not up for debate.  
  
Kyle must at least catch that part because he shakes his head and adds, "Sorry man, I didn't mean anything. It just seemed like there was something else there."  
  
"What kind of something else?" Dean's heart rate has picked up and all the fears that his coworkers could see right through what they were doing come bubbling up and sticking in his throat.  
  
"It's nothing, I can just read people. Sometimes I have to for my job and it just seemed like you guys were more than just buddies." Kyle's expression is curious, maybe even a little sympathetic and Dean relaxes.  
  
"Sam and I are friends. At one point we were friends with benefits, but that ended when we decided to date other people. You know, scratch an itch and not get attached? Especially when it's too hard sometimes to find a hook up with our schedule." Dean doesn't know why he's telling this stranger this, but if he has any chance of something more, he has to be honest.  
  
"Does that ever work?" Kyle is assessing him, head cocked to the side and brown eyes still judgement free. "Not getting attached?"  
  
Dean rubs his hand on the back of his neck, shoving his anxiety down and wets his lips, "I care about Sam, he's my best friend. But he's going back to California in a few months and we needed to get back into the dating scene. It was time."  
  
"Does he know you both decided to start dating again?"  
  
"I'm here, aren't I?" Dean's rebuttal is louder than he intended, but he needs to derail this trail wreck of a conversation quickly.  
  
The blonde searches his face for a moment before he nods and clears his throat. "Okay, good enough. Now what would it take to get you to go to dinner with me?"  
  
Dean takes the out for what it is and relaxes in his seat again. "Are you trying to skip ahead for the second date?"  
  
The other man laughs, it's rich and throaty. His head tosses back and all of his perfectly straight, white teeth are on display. He's ridiculously good looking and Dean vows to not let Sam ruin this. "Is it working?"  
  
"Not even a little," Dean's reply is flirty and light, "Same day equals same date. It's dating 101." He tacks on matter-of-factly.  
  
"That so?" Kyle hums, smiling at the nod he gets in return. "Sorry, I'm a little rusty on my dating etiquette. I'd still like to take you to dinner."  
  
They both stand to exit the shop, Dean shoving his hands in his pockets as Kyle leads him out onto the street, one hand on the small of the brunette's back. Gentle, but it's still intimate and settling.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
Dean wakes up the banging of his apartment door and rolls out of bed and down the hall. The sunlight tells him that its broad daylight and the clock on the wall says it's just past nine am. He looks through the peep hole and sees Sam through the tiny opening in the door. It takes another couple of seconds before Sam starts pounding against the metal again and Dean takes a deep breath and opens it.  
  
"Hey," Is all that Sam offers, taking in Dean in his boxer briefs, sans shirt. His multicolored eyes track up and down the shorter man's torso before landing on his face with a smirk. When Dean makes no effort to move, Sam cranes his neck around him, trying to see farther into the dwelling.  
  
Dean doesn't know why the insinuation pisses him off that Sam would think that he has someone in his apartment, rather than the fact that his hostility is coming from their phone conversation yesterday. The puppy dog eyes finally wear down his defenses and he backs away from the threshold allowing the taller man entrance.  
  
Sam surveys the dwelling, which is exactly like he remembers: a couple of yellow legal tablets on the coffee table, along with Manila folders and some documents scattered beside them. There are no empty beer bottles or take out container and certainly no clothes littering the floor in a trail to the bedroom. He turns and faces the other man after the door has been shut.  
  
"So...?" He starts, but Sam has absolutely no idea how he's going to say or ask everything that has been swirling in his head since their phone call yesterday.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes, "This is my apartment, what do you want?"  
  
"Are you sleeping with him?" It is not what Sam meant to ask at all. Granted, it has been running through his head like a broken record for almost twenty-four hours, but Dean doesn't need to know that.  
  
Dean is shocked beyond speechless. He lets the question bounce back and forth in his cranium like a bullet, while searching the other man's face for any kind of clue about his motives for asking. Sam looks crestfallen and pale; the color drains from his face like a receding water when the tide goes out. It's only then that Dean realizes that the younger man is taking his silence for admission.  
  
"Sam..."It's as gentle as he can muster with his temper flaring low in his belly and his blood pressure spiking to what he's sure is well above the safe threshold. "I haven't...I don't sleep with someone on the first date. I'm a slut, but I do have a few morals I cling to."  
  
Sam's nostrils flare at the word slut, but he lets the words sink in that Dean didn't have sex with Kyle the night before or on Friday night. "So now you're what? Dating him?"  
  
"Looks like. Listen, we swore this wouldn't change things between us. You're still my best friend, I'm not marrying the guy. But things were getting complicated and you're leaving in a few months. Can you just be my best friend." Dean's heart is beating in his chest like a the bass of a metal song and there is blood rushing into his ears like the sound of the ocean in a tsunami. He wants Sam to agree, to say that they are still best friends and to be happy for him; it'll go smoother if he does. But deep down in the recesses of his heart, where his brain isn't allowed, he wants Sam to not be okay with it. He wants him to fight and demand he not see him again.  
  
Sam nods his head and exhales harshly, "Okay, man. Yeah, I can do that." Dean feels his heart splinter a little more and gives the younger man a half hearted smile.  
  
"Sit down man," Dean gestures to the couch, where there are so many X-rated memories attached, before turning towards his bedroom. "Let me go grab some clothes."  
  
The older man is halfway down the hall when he hears, "It's not like I haven't seen it." He smiles in spite of himself, but still finds some jeans and a sweatshirt before returning to the living room.  
  
Sam already has a game keyed up and the controllers on the table when the smaller of the pair drops down a safe distance away. "You don't have any plans, right? 'Cuz I can go?"  
  
Dean offers his first genuine smile of the morning and grabs his controller, "No. No plans. 'Cept kicking your ass."  
  
"Oh, really?" Sam laughs. His head thrown back and eyes alight. "Bring it."  
  
Dean tries not to let the thought of how much better Sam looks here, than anyone else ever will, bother him. He fails.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Dean and Kyle's third date falls on a Friday night and the young attorney is apprehensive and nervous the entire day. It begins as soon a he steps into the elevator and sees Sam's sloppy tie and haphazard suit jacket wadded up in his hand.

 

"Are you okay, Sam?" The concern is practically dripping out of Dean's voice and Sam's bloodshot eyes are a weird deja vu from when Sam and his last boyfriend broke up.

 

Sam jumps slightly at the sound of his name, but the smile that spreads across his face is blissfully unaware, "I'm fine, it was just a late night. I was up late. Working." The younger man rushes to tack the admission on quickly. Not that it's any of Dean's business.

 

Dean returns his smile, a little too easily he finds. "Yeah, Henriksen can be such a slave driver," he wants to say more, but there are five other coworkers in the enclosed space and it's beyond awkward.

 

The younger man fights for the words to answer and ends up just nodding along his agreement as the floors are rapidly eaten up and his chance to respond is stilted by Dean's floor approaching.

 

Dean feels the tension like a physical thing in the pit of his stomach, gnawing away at what he's sure is the mother of all ulcers with the amount of stress and coffee he adds to the mix.

 

 

 

*******

 

 

The restaurant is busy, but the booth that Dean and Kyle are tucked away in gives them an illusion of privacy as Dean searches the menu in lieu of small talk. He's heard of the place and though its niche dining, it's quite clear that his date is aware of the implications and the expectations of this dinner. They haven't discussed it, but they are both adults and have been dancing around what is going to happen once the night winds down.

 

"The salmon is fantastic," the doctor smiles over the top of his own menu, mischievous glint in his eye.

 

Dean's own eyes track down the words until he finds the entree that his companion is selling. "I was personally thinking about something a little less healthy," Dean's tone is playful and he knows that this has absolutely nothing to do with diet choices.

 

"As a medical professional, I can't in good conscience recommend red meat. But as a date and a self proclaimed carnivore, let me say that the bacon wrapped filet is absolutely to die for." Kyle's tone is just as teasing and Dean is impressed by the man's casual permission.

 

"Are you being a medical professional or my date right now?" Dean can't help the way his voice telegraphs the excitement in his voice. There is so much sexual tension in the air that he's sure he's going to die of it.

 

Kyle's eyes darken, but he refuses to glance away. "I'd like to be your boyfriend, but playing doctor is not out of the question."

 

Heat and desire wells up in Dean's very core and feels himself flush as he starts to harden against the inseam of his slacks. "Do you give all this attention to your patients, doctor?" The title is forced past his lips like dragging flesh over broken glass and it ignites fire in its wake.

 

The other man inhales sharply, gaze narrowing to where Dean is biting his lower lip, incisors tearing at the supple flesh of the plump skin of his mouth. "No," its only a whisper, "abso- fucking-lutely not."

 

 

*******

 

 

Dinner is over in a series of innuendos and by the time that it's done, Sam is only a small errant though in the back of Dean's psyche and the lawyer curses his stupid, besotted heart for allowing the younger man to linger there, when he knows what's happening as soon they retire to one of their apartments. As it happens, that part of the evening is expedited when the other man leads him straight to his dwelling from the restaurant. Dean holds his tongue until they are standing outside of Kyle's apartment.

 

"Really? Straight here after dinner?" Dean can't help the teasing tone of his voice, but he'd be lying if he said that the thought of having sit through a movie or some other arcane form of dating ritual would not make him absolutely insane.

 

"Actually, I didn't bring you here for that?" The other man offers and chuckles at the raised eyebrow that it earns him. "Well, I did, but there is something I wanted to show you?" The tumblers to the deadbolt engage and he pushes the door open.

 

The room is spotless, it's large and the decorations, though spartan, are warm and inviting. It speaks of being the home of a young and successful professional. Kyle holds out his hand, "You trust me?"

 

Dean thinks for a split second and finds that he does trust the other man, he closes his fingers around the proffered appendage and allows himself to be pulled into the space. Kyle stops in front of a large window and then lets go of Dean's hand to open the blinds.

 

Once the covering is drawn back, Dean is able to see the view of the city from the large, curtain window and the sight is breath-taking. The twinkle of the lights and life from the city that never sleeps is ethereal and such a novelty that he audibly gasps.

 

Dean steps closer and admires all of the hustle and bustle of the inhabitants of the urban setting, not really even noticing the other man leaving until he hears his voice from another room at the back of the apartment. "Drink?"

 

Dean marvels at the cityscape and answers in a distracted tone, "Yes. Whatever is fine."

 

"I have to admit, it's some view." The blonde says into his ear and wraps his arms around Dean from behind, causing the other man to shiver from the implication of his words. "It just got a whole lot better."

 

The cold, clammy glass from the beer bottles held precariously in the doctor's grip, is only a minute distraction from the hot breath in his ear and solid warmth that is now seeping into his back from the other man's embrace. Dean closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of clean clothes and musk from his companion. He allows himself to be contorted until he's leaning against the strong body of the man behind him.

 

The first brush of lips to the skin behind Dean's ear causes a low moan to leave the man's lips and he all but melts against Kyle as the man places wet, open mouthed kisses against the delicate flesh of Dean's neck. Seconds pass with the damp ministrations evolving from gentle nips to more persistent nibbles and licks before the man sucks an earlobe into his mouth and attacks the cartilage from the shell with laps of tongue.

 

Dean can't help but groan again, involuntary canting his ass back against the doctor's groin and grinding the hard organ that is pressed to his bottom. It's deliciously hard and the distraction almost causes the perspiring bottles to fall of Kyle's grasp. He angles his head to the side and offers up more of his throat to the lavish treatment of his companion's talented mouth.Dean wraps one arm around the man's head, fingers carding through thick locks while his other hand secures the fragile containers held against his thigh. The moisture is seeping through the denim and when the physician starts to unbutton his pants, Dean grabs at the skillful fingers of the other man.

 

"What's wrong?" The words are spoken in a whisper against his skin, the doctor only stopping long enough to form words.

 

Dean closes his own digits around the containers maneuvers himself out of the hold. "Let's not break these," he tugs at the objects and the doctor lets him out of his embrace.

 

"Good idea." The timber of the blonde's voice is thick and wrecked, but he stills his hands to allow Dean to sit the bottles on the mantle of the impressive fireplace the dwelling sports.

 

Dean closes the distances between them again, this time face to face. One hand caress the sculpted cheek bones of the other man while the other hand wraps around a belt loop and tugs their lower bodies together. The resulting friction on both erections causes such a rapturous pressure, that all Dean can do is chase the feeling again before crashing their mouths together.

 

The kiss is uncoordinated and sloppy, lips tangle together as they both battle for control. Dean slots his own mouth more forcefully around Kyle's, tongue slipping out to lave at the skin that his teeth have abused. There is too much saliva, causing them to slide clumsily together in an erotic dance.

 

Kyle wraps his arms around Dean's waist, fitting their entire bodies into a perfect union of flesh and heat, while allowing the lawyer to eat at his mouth, hungrily.Soon they are rutting together like teenagers and Dean hasn't felt this intoxicated with need since... since well Sam. Full stop. He breaks the kiss and steps back.

 

Kyle meet his gaze with confusion and monetary panic before Dean shakes the highly erotic thoughts of his best friend out of his mind and attempts to soothe the perplexed doctor that is still on inches away. "Bedroom?"

 

Fears quelled once more, the other man steps back into Dean's space, "god yes," another probing kiss and he's dragging Dean down the hallway towards the back of the space.

 

The contents of the room are a blur, the doctor only pauses to turn on the small bedside lamp and then shoves Dean back on the bed. Dean lets himself fall on the pillow top padding, only managing to kick his shoes off before the other man follows him down. Kyle crawls over his body, knees straddling the counselor's narrow hips and attaching their mouths together again. This time, the kiss is searing and focused, a velvet spear delving inside Dean's opening and mapping out the ridges of his soft palette.

 

Dean palms the firm, defined globes of his lover's ass and ruts up against the man hovering above him. Their hard lengths collide again without an ounce of finesse and Kyle's eyes roll back in his head from the resulting pleasure that the act illicits. He grinds down on the man under him and Dean can't think, much less about Sam or anything else. The attorney bucks up and into the feeling as the other man wrestles with the hem of Dean's two shirts.

 

Kyle only breaks the kiss long enough to tug at the offending garments and divest Dean from the waist up. His own shirt follows and then there is the tantalizing sensation of skin on skin that short circuits Dean's thought process and promptly redirects all remaining blood down into his diamond hard dick.

 

The healer pecks at the rough stubble of Dean's jaw, before allowing his attention to descend the other man's throat and collar bone and stopping at one hardened and erect nipple. The dusky peak pebbles further, when teeth are added to the mix, rolling and worrying the delicate membrane in an almost too much fashion. It's borderline painful, when the other man releases the nub and soothes the irritation by sucking the peak into his mouth again and lapping at the skin. When he blows cool air over the swollen skin, Dean's dick throbs and pulses against it's cotton trappings inside his trousers.

 

Feeling the lawyer tense under him, the doctor sits back on his haunches and takes in the positively destroyed form between him and the mattress. Dean is absolutely demolished, his hairline darkened from sweat and lips chafed and engorged from kissing. There is a flush up his chest and striking pink tint to his rapturous face.

 

"Look at you," Kyle says it like a benediction, that's disguised as a curse. Want and need crash into his own painful length as he drinks in the sight beneath him. He wastes no more time, moving to take ahold of the button of Dean's slacks again. Dean arches into him, raising his hips off the bed so the garment can be removed.

 

The pants are removed with practiced ease, his boxer briefs with them and then Dean is completely nude against the thousand thread count sheets covering the bed. It feels dangerously erotic to be naked while someone else is still clothed and Dean shivers under the other man's darkened gaze. He only allows the other man to drink in his aroused form momentarily before he's struggling with closure to Kyle's pants.

 

Kyle wiggles his own lower body, stepping deftly out of the garment before setting back down between Dean's legs. Dean is happy that he took extra time in the shower, because the next thing he knows, Kyle is nosing at his treasure trail and brushing his lips against the crown of Dean's cock.

 

The barely there pressure and heat of Kyle's feather light teasing causes goose bumps to break out over the cinnamon dusted skin of Dean's body. He's about to go crazy and voice his displeasure when Kyle takes him completely into his throat without preamble.

 

"Aw fuck," Dean breathes out, his exhale forced and shaky. The warm cavern closing in on his hardened erection, cocooning him wonderfully in ecstasy and delightful bliss. Kyle bobs his head, swallowing him down and the contracting muscles of the doctor's throat pulse around him in delectable gratification.

 

Dean has the man's hair knotted around fist, not directing his motions, just holding on when he feel his orgasm steadily gaining ground at the base of his spine. Kyle is doing something extremely wicked with his tongue, flicking it expertly around the sensitive glans of Dean's shaft. Dean’s other hand is twisted into the sheets, using the fabric to ground himself while Kyle assaults his length with his mouth  

 

Dean is so close that when the sound starts from the floor, next to bed he thinks he hearing think. Kyle jerks, but fortunately he doesn't bite and pulls off before looking into Dean's eyes with an accusing face.

 

"Don't look at me, it's not mine," Dean says after the third ring. It's a generic iPhone ringtone that Dean wouldn't be caught dead with. Not even if Sam hadn't programmed over a hundred movie themes and regular songs into to his own phone. Then he and Sam spent an entire afternoon painstakingly picking out all of the perfect ringtones for their entire contact list.

 

Kyle reaches over the bedside and picks the offending device up. "Hello?" He rubs a hand down Dean's side, while he listens to the person on the other end of the line?

 

"What? When?" The doctor tenses and any playfulness evaporates as he rolls off of Dean and starts sorting through clothes on the floor. "I'll be right there."

 

Dean maneuvers himself up on an elbow. "What's wrong?" Kyle already has his boxers and jeans pulled up when he turns the phone off and lays in on the mattress.

 

"One of my patients...I have to go to the hospital." There's a look of regret on the other man's face and Dean instantly understands.

 

"Yeah, of course." Dean finds his own pants and starts to dress quickly.

 

"No, stay. Please. Let me go take care of this and I'll be back." The doctor pleads.

 

"I don't think that's a good idea. You should focus on your patient and not getting back to your boyfriend." Dean pulls his shirt over his head.

 

"You mean that? Boyfriend?" The man's smile could light up a 20 block radius.

 

"Of course I do. You're rushing off to save lives right now, I'd be dumb to drag this out any further. I mean, if you want. It is really early, and we haven't even had sex yet." Dean can't believe that he's saying this. He was thinking about Sam not sixty seconds ago.

 

"Yes. Absolutely. Now, I gotta run. But we will finish tomorrow?" He leans in and kisses Dean before tying his shoe laces.

 

"Yes, now lets go, Doctor." He pulls the last of his clothes on on the way to the door. He's shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat when they finally reach the hallway in front of Kyle's apartment. "Call me?"

 

"You bet." The physician kisses him one last time before they step out on the sidewalk, there's a car already there to take the man to the hospital.

 

Dean watches him go and pulls out his own phone. There are three phone calls and a text from Sam, but Dean doesn't call the other man back. He debates on calling his own Uber to take him home and decides against it. It's early on a Friday night and he needs to clear his head.

 

 

*******

 

 

Three hours later, a long walk and a stop at a liquor store and Dean enters his own building. He's got a pleasant buzz going and almost trips over the figure seated at his door.

 

"Sam?" Sam's eyes are open, but his stare is vacant. "Sam?"

 

Sam looks up, his grin dopey and bright when he sees the older man. "Hey Dean."The words are slurred and Dean realizes the man is drunk.

 

"Let's get you up." He offers a hand and the taller man hoists himself up to his feet. He only stumbles once and then Dean has the door open.

 

Dean is too drunk to deal with Sam right now, especially with how handsy and touchy the younger man gets when he's been drinking. And now Dean has agreed to be someone's boyfriend, even though it sounds all wrong for him to imagine himself with anyone but Sam.

 

Sam follows him inside the apartment but stops just inside the door. Dean groans to himself, but can't find it in his heart to send Sam away. "What are you doing here?"

 

Sam looks impossibly young and innocent and Dean feels it down into the very core of his being. "I was waiting on you." The younger man says it like it's the most logical thing in the world.

 

Dean sighs, "You knew I was going out tonight. I told you that."

 

"Yeah, third date. Got it." Sam sways on his feet and Dean barely catches him, leading him over to the couch and forcing him to sit.

 

"Stay right here." Dean feels like this whole arrangement is more than he signed up for, but he heads to the kitchen and pulls out a glass to fill with water. He turns on the tap and then Sam is pressing up against him. Dean stills at the sink and sets glass down in the basin.

 

"What does he have that I don't?" Sam says against his neck and Dean is afraid to move. He can feel the heat and hardness against his back and Dean doesn't have enough will power to say no to Sam, so he refuses to turn around. "Why don't you love me?"

 

Something inside Dean snaps and he turns around, catching Sam's face inside his hands and kissing the younger man with everything he's got.

 

 

*******

 

 

The sunlight is bright and Dean's head is throbbing, there's also something heavy on arm and he wakes enough to see the chestnut hair fanned out on the pillow next to him. His limbs are screaming and he dislodges Sam enough to grab at his phone that is playing the Imperial March loud enough to wake the dead. There's a pleasant ache in his muscles that generally only means one thing and pieces of last night rush back to him at a breakneck speed.

 

Sam being drunk and upset, Dean kissing him in the kitchen, making love in the hallway and again once they made it to the bed.

 

"Hey babe," Kyle's voice is cheerful and Dean wants to throw the phone at the nearest wall.

 

"Hey, what time is it?" Dean pulls the phone away to see that it's 8:30 am.

 

"I'm sorry, were you still sleeping?" Kyle sounds a little confused by that, but he continues. "I'm finally heading home and I wanted to call you. I'm gonna grab a nap and then I wanted to see if you wanted to pick up where we left off last night?"

 

Dean rubs his face and looks over to see Sam's eyes blinking at him from the pillow. "Yeah, get some sleep and call me you wake up."

 

" _Okay_ ," comes the reply from the other end. " _Have a good day, Dean."_

 

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, Sam is staring at him with a confused expression, "Uh, yeah. You, too."

 

" _And hey, Dean? I can't wait to see you."_

 

Dean should tell him right now, he should lay it all out, but he can't. Sam's leaving and Dean can't. "I can't wait to see you, either."

 

The call ends and Sam sits up in the bed. He crosses him arms against his massive chest and paints a defiant look across his boyish face. "Don't tell me that you're still going to see that jerk. Not after last night."

 

"Sam, last night was a mistake. We were drinking and you were upset. If you care anything about me, if you ever did, you won't bring last night up ever again. Please? This could be my chance at happily ever after." Dean watches the anger drain from Sam's face. But the hurt that replaces it is much worse.

 

Sam starts gathering up his clothes and yanking them on with a speed that makes Dean dizzy, "It's funny you say that, because I thought it was mine."

 

Dean is speechless for several minutes as he watches him dress and start towards the front door, "Sam, wait. Please, Sam."

 

Sam doesn't slow down and Dean grabs him by the arm in the living room. "Let me go." Sam shakes the arm off and then spins around to face the older man as he reached the entrance. "Don't worry, your dirty little secret is safe with me."

 

Sam turns without another word and slams the apartment door, it rattles the walls and knocks a picture off the shelf in the living room. The glass in the frame shatters and Dean sinks to his knees to pick it up.

 

Besides the broken glass, the photo is undamaged. Its a candid shot of he and Sam at the park. Both are smiling at the lens without a care in the world. Dean runs his fingers over Sam's face and starts cry. It's hours before he gets up again.

 


End file.
